


Bury A Friend, Try To Wake Up

by theinvisibledisaster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Internal Conflict, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), POV Bellamy Blake, POV Clarke Griffin, Season/Series 06 Speculation, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, The Author Regrets Everything, because they would never, but like.... not really, i'm not even sure exactly how to tag this, jekyll and hyde vibes, just heaps of Angst guys, there's a lot going on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-12-18 07:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 43,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18245387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledisaster/pseuds/theinvisibledisaster
Summary: A few weeks after settling in to the new planet, Clarke seems to be acting strangely. Almost like she's two different people. Bellamy is determined to get to the bottom of it.Or, another massive angsty s6 spec fic!!!





	1. When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?

**Author's Note:**

> Listen,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, do I have enough time to be writing a new fic right now?
> 
> Absolutely not. 
> 
> Is that going to stop me?
> 
> Fuck no!
> 
> It’s another one of Talis’s s6 spec fics, you guys! Which means, of course, that it’ll be in three parts (even though I claim that it’ll only need two) and that there will be major angst and heartbreak, plus snarky one-liners. So if that’s the shit you like, welcome to the hellmouth! If you’ve never read one of my stories before, then I apologise to you in advance – it’s gonna get rough, buddy. 
> 
> ALSO, I have now written TWO s6 spec fics where I started off with canon becho and had to break them up at some point, and let me tell you, I am EXHAUSTED, so this time I’m not doing that. They broke up before this story begins, but it’s mostly amicable, and Clarke doesn’t know they’re broken up, which naturally leads to rather a lot of angst (because this is ME). 
> 
> I wrote this after the idea rattled around in my head for _literal months_ because of a conversation my friends and I had AGES ago about the possible theories for what the new planet would be like, and in particular what Jroth (*cough* sometimes he's right about things okay? he _does_ write the show *cough*) said about this being “the most challenging season for Eliza” or something like that. I promised myself I wasn’t going to do another mammoth s6 spec fic, but unfortunately sometimes (all the time) my brain does not cooperate, and I just had to get it down on the page so it would stop keeping me awake at night. 
> 
> ALSO, AN UPDATE FOR THE DAY I POST THIS: JASON RELEASING THE TRAILER THE EXACT DAY I WAS PLANNING TO DROP THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THIS FIC??? A DELIBERATE POWER MOVE TO UNDERMINE MY SPECS. 
> 
>  
> 
> _#ILLUMINATI CONFIRMED_
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, here we are. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, and that it’s worth the all stress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, this fic alternates between Clarke's Perspective and Bellamy's perspective, and as with Set The Dark On Fire, each section is divided with song lyrics that are relevant to the POV.
> 
> There will be a lot of Billie Eilish, particularly in relation to Clarke for..................... reasons. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, I'm off to cry.

_Step on the glass, staple your tongue_  
_Bury a friend, try to wake up_  
_Cannibal class, killing the son_  
_Bury a friend, I wanna end me_  
  
_I wanna end me_  
  
_What do you want from me? Why don't you run from me?_  
_What are you wondering? What do you know?_  
_Why aren't you scared of me? Why do you care for me?_  
_When we all fall asleep, where do we go?_  
  
_Listen_  
**bury a friend - Billie Eilish**  


 

  
Five weeks after they landed on the new planet, Clarke jerked awake, fighting off yet another nightmare as it receded back to the furthest recesses of her mind. A frantic glance at the clock told her it was still the middle of the night. She groaned in frustration and pressed her knuckles into her eyelids as her pulse returned to normal.

It had been happening since they arrived.

Not the nightmares, she’d always had those.

No, the _forgetting._

It didn’t matter how intense the dream had been, whenever she woke, screaming or gasping for air or straining against her bedsheets, within seconds of consciousness, the dream was gone.

She’d started avoiding sleep altogether, just to stave off the terrible feeling of emptiness and panic when she reached for an image that faded the harder she tried to hold on to it. Of course, the more exhausted she became, the less she was able to distinguish between the shadows that haunted her at night and the ones that lurked at her heels in the day. She couldn’t go to anyone for help, or even a distraction – who would help her now?

Her daughter was busy, constantly in meetings with Russell, and the people she’d once called her friends now looked at her like she was nothing, like she was less than nothing.

The worst part was, she couldn’t even blame them.

And Bellamy… Sometimes, when she was drifting somewhere between consciousness and sleep, her eyes would seek him out. He always looked happy, laughing with Emori or talking to Raven, or sitting with his arm around Echo and smiling at something she said. Occasionally he would sense her gaze, the way he used to, and look up. Every time that happened, he opened his mouth as if to call over to her, and every time, she looked away before he could.

He was happier without her.

The days had started stretching out, feeling longer and muddier, until she no longer knew whether she was dreaming or not. Everything started to feel the same, like she was walking through quicksand, and she started to wonder if anything was real. If anything she did mattered.

Clarke pulled the knees up to her chest as it slowly stopped heaving and returned to a steady rise and fall. Her breaths sounded so loud in the empty room. The cold air against her sweat-soaked skin was making her shiver, but she took solace in the fact that the physical irritation meant that she was awake.

She _was_ awake, right?

 _“Maybe not.”_ Something whispered in her ear. _“Maybe you’re still asleep.”_

Another voice joined the first, and this one sounded familiar. _“Maybe you’re going insane.”_

The third voice was mocking. _“Maybe this is how Wanheda goes out – not with a bang, but with a whimper.”_

 _“Pathetic.”_ The first voice said.

The other two echoed the sentiment. _“Pathetic.”_

Clarke pressed her forehead into her knees. “Leave me alone. Please, just… leave me alone.”

The voices started overlapping in her head, wrapping around her throat and tightening, and she gasped for air as they circled her, getting louder and louder. When she glanced around the room, she could almost see the three figures, forming in the darkness at the corners and tilting their heads at her in tandem. She could hear the smiles in their mouthless voices.

_“We’re not really here, Clarke.”_

_“You **are** alone.”_

_“You’re all alone, and no-one’s coming to save you.”_

_“No-one ever does.”_

Shadowy fingers started reaching for her, nails like knives tearing her open from within.

_“Poor Wanheda, killed everyone she loves.”_

_“Betrayed everyone else.”_

_“All alone.”_

_“No-one’s going to help you, not anymore.”_

_“You’re all alone.”_

Clarke screamed, her eyes flying open, and the voices receded with the rest of her dream. It was light in her room, and she fell back against the sheets, panting raggedly. She tried to relax, but she couldn’t remember why she was so scared; all she had left was the emptiness of not knowing, and the lingering panic in her lungs.

It was morning. She needed to get up and help the nurses with their records, and make sure Madi had breakfast before her meeting with Russell.

She was definitely awake this time.

Wasn’t she?  


* * *

  
_This is the sound we make_  
_When in between two places_  
_Where we used to bleed_  
_And where our blood needs to be_  
**Bandito - 21 Pilots**  


 

  
Bellamy frowned over his book, trying not to let Clarke catch him watching her.

He couldn’t believe it had come to this – peeking at her from afar – but every time he tried to talk to her, she just brushed him off; retreating, _always_ retreating from him. Perhaps if they were on better terms, he would have noticed it sooner, but as it was, they had been on the planet, Sanctum for nearly six weeks, and he’d only been suspicious for two.

When they first touched down, the leader of the Capitol City, Janus, Russell, assured them that they were a peaceful planet and that he would happily allow them to integrate into their society. As naturally suspicious people, of course this set off alarm bells, but they spent the entire first week in meetings, just going over the terms of their arrival and whether or not they stayed. By the time it came to a close, they had settled on an agreement; they would be allowed to stay and live, provided they took psychological evaluations first.

One by one, they had all gone in for meetings with Doctor Shore, a kindly old man with more smile lines than could be counted, as he sat them down in a bizarre looking chair and asked them a litany of probing questions while flashing lights in their eyes. It was a bizarre process, but it seemed to work. Most people were cleared, and those that weren’t were sent to some kind of group therapy twice a week, and lived in the main city square so that the doctor could keep an eye on them. There was a very small group of people who were considered high risk – Octavia among them – who were being temporarily kept in a psychiatric ward, but everyone else could come and go.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t visited his sister; that she was alone in that ward and he hadn’t seen her in weeks, and an overwhelming wave of guilt hit him. Bellamy tried to find his appetite, staring down at the tray of food in front of him, but he simply wasn’t hungry anymore. He lifted his book back up and made a point of not looking across the room again.

He ended up reading the same sentence fifteen times, until he just gave in and lifted his eyes over to where she was sitting.

Clarke had been acting… bizarrely lately.

She seemed to leap from hiding herself away in her room, barely attempting to communicate, and storming through rooms like she used to before Praimfaya, like she had somewhere to be and no-one could stand in her way. In the same day, he’d seen her quietly braiding Madi’s hair in the corner of a room, trying desperately not to draw attention to herself, and interrupting a council meeting just to tell everyone they were wrong about everything. It was disconcerting.

He had been trying to work out why she was behaving so oddly, but when he tried to bring it up with his friends, none of them wanted to talk about Clarke, consistently brushing him off. He wasn’t sure what to do about it, or even if it was just him that was affected, but he had to do something. So there he was, peering above his book as Clarke shuffled silently through the mess hall. Raven was walking in the opposite direction, completely engrossed in conversation with Shaw, and she didn’t even seem to notice Clarke, almost walking directly into her.

Clarke didn’t even seem surprised, she just kept her head down and walked over to where Madi was sitting. She put a tray down for the girl – and Bellamy noticed, took nothing to eat for herself – and was talking quietly to her with a gentle smile on her face. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen her smile that way at him.

Murphy came down and sat next to him, clapping a hand to his shoulder as he started shovelling food into his mouth.

“What are you staring at?” He asked around a mouthful of eggs.

Bellamy shook his head and returned his gaze to the book. “Nothing, just… thinking.”

“Thinking about Clarke?”

He clenched his jaw, but didn’t respond.

Murphy held his hands up cautiously, “Hey, man, I’m not going to pick a fight with you for wanting to talk to her, I’m just asking.”

“Really?” He asked bitterly. “You’d be the only one.”

Murphy made as if to say something, but before he could, Echo, Emori and Raven all came to sit down at the table, chatting about something they’d seen the night before. It had been a little awkward for the last couple of weeks, being around Echo after he broke up with her, but they were both trying to be civil for the sake of their friends. Raven and Emori both claimed they weren’t picking a side, but Murphy was, in his own words, “Team Bellamy, obviously.”

Emori started asking Raven about how things were going with Shaw, and Bellamy tried to stay engaged, he really did. However, his mind kept flitting back to Clarke’s weird behaviour, and he found himself wondering if she would let him talk to her. He realised that they hadn’t even really spoken since they touched down on the new planet, and he was no longer sure how to approach her. He thought that perhaps, after their moment on the bridge listening to Monty, that things would just slot back into place, but that didn’t happen. Instead, they’d woken everybody up and it was like Clarke just vanished into herself completely. In a small way it was like losing her all over again, and he hated himself for feeling so helpless, for just letting it happen.

It wasn’t until he heard his name being said that he zoned back in. They were all staring at him expectantly. He shook his head, “Sorry, I was just…”

“Thinking?” Murphy smirked.

He shot him a dirty look, softening his expression when he turned back to his ex-girlfriend. “I was miles away – what’s up?”

Echo sighed, exasperated at having to repeat herself. “I asked if you wanted to come for a walk down by the lakes with us after breakfast?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he said distractedly. Over Emori’s shoulder, Madi was getting to her feet, walking towards the Janusian leader – Russell – and his office, and the second the child was out of eyeshot, Clarke’s face fell. He suddenly realised how _tired_ she looked. He frowned over at her, trying to work out when the last time he’d spoken to her was, and Raven followed the direction of his gaze.

“What’s her problem? Upset that she’s not in charge anymore?” She asked bitterly.

Bellamy didn’t answer. He knew why she was upset, because he was the reason – the fact that he’d put the flame in Madi, that she was the one running point between Russell and their people – Clarke would have done anything to save her from that, and Bellamy had thrown her right into its path. The downward tilt of her mouth that seemed to have taken up permanently on her face the second she thought Madi couldn’t see was heart-breaking, and it was his fault.

Echo pressed her lips together. “Forget about Wanheda, we need–”

“That’s not her name.” Bellamy said quietly.

She paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Excuse me?”

“I said, that’s not her name.” He said, running his hands through his hair. He pushed his tray aside, barely touched, and closed his book. “You know what, I’m gonna go see if Jordan’s busy, go on your walk without me.”

“Bellamy!” Echo called after him, but he was already halfway out the door.  


* * *

  
_I been worryin' that my time is a little unclear_  
_I been worryin' that I'm losing the one's I hold dear_  
_I been worryin' that we all live our lives in the confines of fear_  
**The Fear - Ben Howard**

  
  
  
  
  
Clarke watched Madi go with rising dread.

It wasn’t that she didn’t think she was safe – she knew Russell wouldn’t hurt her – but that she could already feel the weight of everyone’s safety resting on the child’s shoulders. She knew it would become too much to bear, and she tried to take some of the weight for her, but Madi was resolute. The child commander wanted to do everything herself.

It frightened Clarke; it frightened her half to death, because she had never wanted Madi to become her, and yet there she was, growing up a leader with twelve new voices in her head.

 _“You mean like **your** head?”_  Something whispered, and she quickly shook it out. She wasn’t going to think about this today, she’d already promised herself. She had decided before she woke Madi that today she was going to find Jordan and spend time with him, because he was her last connection to her old friends, and because he was sweet and kind and she loved him like a brother, similar to the way she’d loved Wells. She hadn’t felt that kind of love in a long time and it felt almost alien to her.

She felt a prickling on the back of her neck, and turned, only to see Bellamy look away suddenly.

Clarke wished her heart didn’t sink every time she missed his eyes.

She kept hers on him, pitifully hoping that he’d look back even though she knew that if he did, she would flinch away. She couldn’t help it; it was too much for her to handle. There was something too close to forgiveness in them, and she couldn’t allow him to give her that – not this time.

He suddenly shoved his food away and stood up from the table, walking from the room without so much as a word, and she wondered if he was okay. Not that it was her business whether he was or wasn’t anymore.

She sighed and got to her feet.

Time to find Jordan.  


* * *

  
_Under everything,_  
_Just another human being_  
**Just Breathe - Pearl Jam**  


 

  
  
Bellamy leaned back against the cool metal of the Eligius ship, letting the warmth from the two suns heat his weary muscles. Everyone else had moved into the quarters that Russell had commissioned for them as soon as they possibly could, but not Jordan; that ship was his home, it was part of him, and he didn’t want to relinquish it. When he’d asked if he could remain living there instead, Bellamy was worried that the Janusians would be offended, but instead they saw the large metal box as an oddity to be ogled happily.

Of course, it helped that Jordan had inherited his father’s natural gift with plants, and his mother’s kindness, so all the villagers who lived nearby simply adored him. Honestly, it would be impossible not to.

Jordan sat down next to him, and the two of them looked out over the fields, watching some children playing in the grass. He wasn’t even sure if they were grounder kids or Janusians, and he found a smile on his lips when it occurred to him that it might be both.

For the first time, they were close to something resembling the peace they’d been working towards for so very long.

“I’m a fan of the grass.” Jordan said brightly, twisting it through his fingers. “I like that it’s everywhere, and how green it is, and that it smells of nature instead of metal. We had plants and algae on the ship, but… it’s not the same as being able to just sit here like this, surrounded by it. I’m a really big fan of the grass.”

He grinned, squinting over at him, “Me too, kid.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to stay here? Maintain this?” He asked.

Bellamy shrugged. “I can’t assume anything, I can only hope, but… I _really_ hope so.”

The next few minutes passed in casual silence, and Bellamy tilted his head up towards the sky, breathing in the fresh air and stretching his legs out in front of him to enjoy the freedom of space. He had to teach himself to be able to relax, to love the small things again, but he was getting there. He copied Jordan’s example and ran his hands over the grass at his sides, trying to memorise the way it felt against his fingertips.

“Oh, hi Clarke!” Jordan said cheerfully.

Bellamy opened his eyes, only to see that Clarke had already half-turned away from them. Clearly, she’d come up to talk to Jordan and when she rounded the corner and saw Bellamy she tried to duck away before they noticed. He tried not to acknowledge the knot he felt in his stomach at that.

She turned back and leaned against the wall, resting her weight against the sturdy metal and tugging absentmindedly at the hem of her shirt. She smiled down at Jordan. “Hey, kid. How’s everything going out here?”

“Good, I think. The Janusians have been helping me adapt the algae to something more edible – apparently if we breed it with some of their vegetables, they’ll be able to grow season round!”

“That’s great,” she said, enthusiastic.

“Yeah,” he beamed. “How are you doing?”

Her smile fell a little, but she caught herself before it dropped completely. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Jordan asked.

She glanced in Bellamy’s direction for the briefest of moments before her eyes flicked back to Jordan. “I’m just tired, that’s all. I don’t remember the last time I got a good night’s sleep.”

“I can stick you back in cryo, if that helps?” Jordan teased, and she chuckled dryly.

“Y’know, I might just take you up on that one,” she quipped, staring out over the field to where the children were playing. “Maybe when I’m sure the world is safe for them.”

“You worry too much,” Jordan grumbled good-naturedly. “It’s been weeks. Surely if something bad was gonna happen, it would have happened already.”

Clarke and Bellamy both snorted, sharing a look before they even realised what they were doing. It felt so natural to fall back into that co-leadership role, but the second she realised they were actually looking at each other, she ducked her head.

“Anyway, I should be going, I only came out here to see if you were free, but you’re clearly busy, so,” Clarke pushed off from the wall and started backing away.

Jordan scrambled to his feet to catch her wrist, “No, don’t leave, we were just planning on relaxing in the sun for a little while. You could join us?”

She smiled sadly. “I’m not sure I’d know how to relax.”

And with that, she was gone, striding away towards the city. Bellamy wondered when she’d started preferring her own company to anyone else’s. He wondered if it was his fault. Jordan hovered, clearly torn between sitting back down and following her, but in the end he simply nodded to himself and returned to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Jordan asked, not unkindly. He said it the way Monty would have, well-intentioned and softly spoken, but without the hint of disapproval Monty would have had. Bellamy felt yet another pang in his chest for the loss of his friend. In the last weeks, he’d gotten used to them, but it never made it easier.

He sighed. “I’m not sure she wants me to.”

“But you care about her. If you care about her, why are you letting her push you away?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” Jordan teased.

He sighed, long and deep and still not nearly enough to convey his frustrations. “Yeah, kid. It is.”  


* * *

  
_I want a people that I can call home_  
_But why do the work when I'm doing just fine all on my own_  
  
_And I don't mind being alone_  
_I'm doing fine, me on my own_  
**On My Own - Tessa Violet**  


 

  
  
Clarke made her way back through the city, taking in the fresh air and the trees on every street corner. She smiled at children when they waved, and nodded politely at the few familiar faces she came across.

She wasn’t really sure which direction she was walking, she had just wanted to get away from Bellamy. Away from his sad eyes and the way he wouldn’t even talk to her.

In the end, her destination was determined for her, when she came across a bench in front of the hospital that looked out over the park across from it. It was tucked away into a little nook to shield it from the weather, but it also meant that no-one could approach without her seeing. She slumped down onto it and pulled out her small sketch book and a pencil, hoping to be left alone.

She should have known that her luck wasn’t that good.

“Clarke.” Octavia acknowledged her as she sat down on the other end of the bench, leaving ample space between them.

“Octavia.” She supplied, before returning to her sketch book.

“Not gonna ask me why I’m here?”

“The hospital is behind us, and I presume they don’t just keep you locked up in there. It stands to reason you’d be allowed out for fresh air.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

Octavia tilted her head at her, a small smile playing at her lips. “Okay.”

For the next twenty minutes, the two of them sat in complete silence. Octavia watched the people running through the small park and Clarke sketched their surroundings: the trees, the birds, the buildings. Every now and then Clarke would feel Octavia’s gaze on her cheek, but she wouldn’t look up. She just kept pressing granite lines into pale paper.

“Having fun?” Octavia finally asked.

Clarke snorted. “I don’t remember what fun is.”

“Me neither.”

And just like that, they were talking.

If someone asked Clarke what finally made the dam break, she wouldn’t have been able to tell them, but in that one moment, they both seemed to forget that they hated each other. Stories came spilling from Octavia’s lips about her time under the floor, her moments with Lincoln, her descent into bloodthirsty dictatorship. In return, Clarke told her about solitary, about her dad, about how she never stopped blaming herself for every death she caused.

When she heard that, Octavia shook her head. “You should consider forgiving yourself, Clarke.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I never said it was. But there’s no point carrying the weight of those bodies around with you. That shit gets heavy after a while.”

“You would know.” Clarke snapped. “And honestly, if it leads me down the same path as you, absolving yourself of blame for everything you do, then I’ll pass, thanks.”

It was harsh, too harsh, but Clarke had been angry at so many things for so long, and for once she was tired of being angry at herself. She wondered if she’d just destroyed the tentative ceasefire that had been building between them, but Octavia only laughed.

“Maybe you’re right. But you’ll have to someday, Clarke. You can’t keep living like this forever. You’re barely even here half the time; too stuck in your own head, in your past mistakes, and that’s not living at all.”

Clarke shrugged a shoulder weakly, like the burden was too heavy to lift any more than that. “I don’t know how to live without the guilt. I think it might be the only thing keeping me sane.”

“Well, that’s your problem.” Octavia pointed out, getting to her feet. The suns were getting low in the sky, and the parks were almost empty. “Have fun, Clarke.”

She left, and Clarke laughed without really knowing why. Then the silence returned, enveloping her like the arms of an old friend, and she closed her eyes and let her pencil fall loose between her fingertips. It was moments like this that she really felt it all; the pain, the loss, the rage, the panic, the sheer _weight_ of everything against her spine.

A foolish idea struck her, and she glanced around to make sure there was nobody nearby. When she was satisfied that she was completely and utterly alone, she pulled the relic of the old radio out of her pocket. All that was left of it was the little handheld mouthpiece, and she’d been carrying around since they arrived; it was oddly comforting having the useless scrap metal around, and she’d been trying not to think about why. Today, however, she was too tired to care, and she lifted it to her lips.

“Bellamy.”

That one word was enough to make the tears she thought she’d finished crying return with a vengeance. She sniffled, trying to hold them back.

“Bellamy, I know you can’t hear me. It’s been god knows how many days since Praimfaya. You came back to me. You came back and the worst part is that I wish you hadn’t. I spent so long wishing you’d come home, and now… I love you so much, but maybe we’re not supposed to have each other. Maybe the only way we can survive is apart. The world kept turning for six years while I waited for you, and when you appeared in those headlights, I thought that maybe it had stopped; that we were finally going to be allowed to just _stop._ Instead, we brought the world to its knees. Again. What’s the point in trying to do good if all we end up with is ruins?”

She finally let the tears fall.

“Why did you come back to me if you were just going to walk away again?”

She dropped her head into her hands, the metal in her left palm pressing uncomfortably into her forehead. Sobs wracked her body and it took her longer than she was proud of to pull herself together again. When she finally did, her monsoon of tears fading to a slow trickle, she lifted the old radio again.

“I miss you.” She whispered, and it felt like a confession. “I miss you and I hate it, because you’re right here. I see you every day. It’s awful that it was so much easier to miss you when I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see you again, but it’s true. That’s the ugly truth, Bellamy. I miss you, but I wish you’d never come back.” She let the device slip from her hands and into her lap, pressing her palms into her eyes to staunch the new onslaught of tears.

Saying it aloud hurt, more than she expected it to, and that was really something, because Clarke was used to pain by now. She couldn’t even remember a time when it wasn’t there, physical or mental, a constant ache no matter what she did or how far away she got from the source.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, getting her emotions back under control until she could school her face into a neutral expression, but by the time she started heading back to her room the suns were low and pink in the sky.  


* * *

  
_Oh, you went running with my heart_  
_And it's a long, long, long way back_  
_And this right here, well it just ain't living_  
_Oh, I want you to come back_  
**Winds of Change - Vance Joy**

 

  
  
  
Bellamy leaned on the concrete in front of him, trying to remember how to breathe.

_“I miss you, but I wish you’d never come back.”_

Her words rang in his ears.

_“I miss you, but I wish you’d never come back.”_

He’d heard her talking to Octavia, just around the corner in front of him, and had been stuck on the spot, not able to approach but unable to tear himself away. When Octavia got up to leave, she bumped into him on her way back to the ward. Of course she immediately rolled her eyes when she saw where he was looking. “Go talk to her.”

It was the most encouraging thing she’d said in a long time, and the words were jarring. He frowned down at her. “She wants to be left alone.”

“Clarke always wants to be left alone.” Octavia grabbed his arm and squeezed it. “By everyone except you. She might think she doesn’t, especially right now, but you’re the only one she wants.”

“That’s not fair, O.” He gritted out, heart aching.

“I’m not here to be fair, Big Brother.” She said solemnly, and then she spun on her heel and disappeared.

He had decided then that he would go and talk to Clarke, not because his sister told him to, but because even from around the corner and unable to see her face, he could tell she was exhausted. Maybe her guard would be down just enough to let him sit with her. She’d let Octavia talk, after all.

Unfortunately, that was the moment she’d started talking.

He was close enough to heard every word, and with each one, his heart cracked a little more.

_“I miss you, but I wish you’d never come back.”_

Those in particular had felt like a punch to the solar plexus. Like she’d hit him directly in the heart with the weapon that would cause the most damage.

_I miss you, but I wish you’d never come back.”_

He slumped against the wall, making sure she couldn’t see him when she got up to leave. Then he’d finally let himself cry.  


* * *

 

 _Vivid echoes of his terrified screams_  
_Guess nothing ever just is what it seems_  
**Greeting the Menace - Zack Hemsey**

 

 

Clarke was drowning in an ocean of screams, and she knew without knowing that they were the howls of people she killed. Their hands were dragging her down to the eternal nothingness below, and the more she struggled the less she could move. She was trapped and falling, tumbling into the abyss. 

Then Bellamy was there, hovering over her, falling with her.

Blood was dripping from his eyes, and she scrabbled to get away from him but she couldn't find purchase in the air, still just spinning into the black. 

_"You did this."_

"No. No, I didn't, I wouldn't, I-"

_"You're going to murder me, Clarke."_

"I wouldn't do that. I couldn't!"

_"But you already have."_

Clarke woke up yelling and kicking out at the sheets that had wrapped themselves around her legs. She didn't remember the dream, but her heart was pounding in her ears and her fingertips were reaching for something or someone that wasn't there.

She glanced around her empty room. She couldn't even remember going to bed, but she must have stumbled in sometime in the afternoon, because the sky through her window was dark.

Madi was still out with Russell and a few of the others, and Clarke was alone in her apartment, a headache beginning to form.

Emptiness clawed at her ribcage and she finally acknowledged the feeling she'd been ignoring for so long.

She felt lonely. 

 

* * *

_In any other world you could tell the difference_  
_And let it all unfurl into broken remnants_  
_Smile like you mean it and let yourself let go_  
  
_'Cause it's all in the hands of a bitter, bitter man_  
_Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in_  
_Take a bow, play the part of a lonely, lonely heart_  
_Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in_  
**Any Other World - Mika**

 

  
  
  
  
When he returned to the castle, his friends were sitting down to dinner in Murphy and Emori’s quarters, and he was supposed to be there. Even though all he wanted was to crawl back into his bed and live there for the next few weeks, he steeled himself and walked in.

Clarke, unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be seen.

Yet this time, it hurt more.

He collapsed into the empty armchair Murphy always saved for him, and put his head in his hands.

“Whoa there, Atlas, what’s wrong with you?”

Murphy’s good-humoured worry only made his chest tighten further. He drew in a shaky breath before he looked up. Raven, Shaw, Echo, Emori, Jordan, Jackson, Miller and Murphy were all staring back concernedly.

“Seriously, Bellamy, what’s wrong? You’re freaking us out.” He recognised that it was Raven talking now, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing at all, except…

He wrung his hands together.

“Is… Is Clarke in love with me?” He asked quietly.

Their eyes collectively widened with something like disbelief. Raven almost looked angry and Murphy whistled awkwardly, but it was Emori who ended up reaching for his hand.

“Oh, Bellamy,” she murmured, squeezing it comfortingly. “You really didn’t know?”

“Huh.”

That was all he managed to say.

His brain was just shutting down completely. It was trying to simultaneously go through every moment he ever shared with Clarke, and every missed opportunity he’d had in the last few weeks to talk to her, and it was too much. He was dimly aware of his friends all exchanging glances and talking in hushed tones, but none of it was quite registering.

He was wondering if he should be happy, or upset, or _something,_ but instead he was just numb and _Clarke, Clarke, Clarke, Clarke, **Clarke–**_

“Bellamy!” It was Miller’s voice that snapped him out of it.

He looked up.

“Come on man, get it together.” He said sternly. “We all thought we lost you for a second there, what’s going on?”

He shook his head helplessly. “I didn’t– I didn’t know, I didn’t… I…”

“Shit,” Murphy’s fingers were vicelike on his shoulder, dragging him back to the present. “Breathe, Bellamy, c’mon.”

All this time?” He asked desperately, praying for them, for just _one_ of them, to tell him he was wrong.

“Yeah.” Murphy sighed, when nobody else seemed willing. “Since back at the dropship, I think.”

“No.” The word tore violently through his chest. “No, _don’t,_ you can’t say shit like that, Murphy, that’s not fair, she hasn’t loved me that long, _she **can’t** have, **please–”**_

“–stop it!” Raven snapped, and he realised he hadn’t imagined the anger in her expression. The sudden outburst was enough to shock him into silence, and she pressed on. “Clarke loves you, Bellamy. You don’t get to hide from that, and we’re not going to help you, not anymore.”

“What?”

Raven’s hands made fists on the arms of her chair, and Shaw reached over to cover one of them with his own. She shot him a grateful look before she started in on Bellamy.

“On the Ring… Listen, we all know how much you loved her. You loved Clarke so much, and then she died, and it completely destroyed you. We watched it consuming you on the Ring, how much it messed with you, how much you blamed yourself, how much you missed her. You loved her, and then she died, and you had to come to terms with that on your own.”

“It’s okay.” Murphy chimed in. “I did the same.”

“We all did.” Raven’s brow creased. “But not like you, Bellamy. We could admit that Clarke cared about us, loved us, enough to sacrifice herself. You couldn’t do that.”

When she didn’t say anything more, seemingly struggling to find the right thing, Emori took over.

“I think you’ve always known, Bellamy; a part of you _had_ to know that she loved you back. But I think you locked that part of yourself away so that you could survive – because if she died loving you, then she died _for you,_ and that was too much for you to bear.”

“No, don’t, please,” he begged.

“You have to face it, Bellamy. You have to, because it’s been holding you back for so long.”

“No, she left me, she left me with my sister to die–”

“You’re not the only one who’s been trying to convince yourself that your feelings are unreciprocated. Clarke couldn’t let herself love you, because you came back with Echo, so no matter how much she wanted to, she had to hold back. Then, you put the chip in Madi, and to her, that just confirmed that you didn’t care about her anymore, that you’d never loved her and now you don’t even see her as a friend.” Shaw said.

Raven raised a eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. “I know that you guys have made it your mission to avoid talking to her, but I actually _like_ Clarke. You didn’t see her when McCreary first caught her. She was alone and fighting, fighting for that _one kid._ She didn’t think she had anyone else, and when she heard over the radio that there were more people, the look on her face… I can’t even describe it. She looked hopeful and terrified and lost. I remember thinking how awful it must be, being tied to a chair, bleeding onto the floor, not knowing where your child was, and then being accused of lying about the existence of other people, all while trying not to get her hopes up that the new people were ones she trusted, and not giving in to Diyoza. After six years of solitude with only a child for company, a child she had to _raise._ I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for her. Can you?”

He levelled a steel glare at every single one of them, and without fail, as his gaze met each of theirs, they averted their eyes.

“Didn’t think so.”

Bellamy tried not to thinking about words like _bleeding_ and _solitude_ and _six years_ and focussed instead on the burning question on his tongue. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Christ, man, maybe try _talking to her?”_   Shaw threw up his hands. “Or, failing that, just acknowledging her existence every now and then.”

“He does.” Murphy said. “He stares at her all the time. It’s really creepy.”

“Fuck off.” Bellamy growled.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I hit a nerve?”

“I mean it, Murphy, shut the hell up.”

“Look, man, we love you.” Miller interjected, before the exchange became too heated. “We just want you to be happy, and if Clarke makes you happy, then you should tell her.”

“It’s not that simple…”

“It really is.” Jackson said matter-of-factly.

“No, it isn’t.” Bellamy kicked out at the coffee table in front of him, sending it skidding across the floor as he got to his feet, pacing.

“What’s going on?” Raven asked. “What haven’t you been telling us?”

He scrubbed his hands through his hair.

“I don’t know. I don’t have any proof of anything, but I think… I think there’s something wrong with Clarke.”

“Like, Abby wrong or Octavia wrong?” Murphy asked dryly.

“I’m not sure.”

Murphy’s expression turned serious. “Shit, okay. What exactly has she been doing?”

“It’s like… it’s like she’s two different people. Half the time, I see her and she won’t even look at me, will barely speak to anyone except Madi, she looks like she’s wasting away, which would be worrying enough, but,” he swallowed, “the other half of the time, it’s like we’re back on the ground after Mount Weather and she’s storming through the place like she owns it. It’s hard to explain, but it doesn’t feel like the Clarke I know, it feels like…”

“What?”

“It’s how she was when she used to play up for the grounders, to make them respect her. It’s like she’s Wanheda again.”

“That’s not possible.” Murphy waved a hand. “For one thing, she hated that, she only did it because she had to. You forget, I was there at Polis when she was.”

“No, I know, it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what I’ve seen.”

Emori winced. “Actually, I’ve seen that too. The other day, I was walking to see Raven, and I bumped into Clarke in the hallway. She didn’t even look at me, and then when she went round the corner, I could hear her talking to Abby, and she started saying this... _stuff_. Not even yelling, just _talking._ But the things she was saying… it was _cruel._ It wasn’t like Clarke at all, but I had to be somewhere, and I didn’t want to get in the middle of what was clearly a family matter, so I left. The next time I saw Abby was at breakfast in the mess hall the next day, and she looked upset.”

Bellamy nodded. “Has anyone else noticed things like that?”

Jordan, Raven, and Jackson all raised their hands.

“She was helping me and the Janusian doctors with a few procedures, and this kid came in who’d fallen out of a tree or something. She got down right at his eye level and started listing off all the ways the fall could have killed him. To a six-year-old kid.” Jackson explained. “It was terrifying. Afterwards, I pulled her aside and asked her why, and she just said that he would have to learn someday. When she left, I remember feeling weird about it for the rest of the day, but I was so busy patching people up that it slipped my mind. You’re right, Bellamy, that’s not like her. It’s too cold.”

“And the rest of you?” Bellamy asked. They all nodded, even Echo. When he looked to her, she merely shrugged.

“I just… it didn’t seem out of the ordinary to me.” Echo said. “It’s Wanheda.”

“No, she isn’t.” He gritted out.

She pulled at her sleeve. “So you say.”

“Yes, I do say.” He said loudly. “She’s my best friend, and she’s not like that, she wouldn’t do those things, she–”

“–but you don’t really know her anymore, do you?”

It was like all the air had been sucked from the room. Bellamy and Echo stared at each other as their friends looked on apprehensively; this was bad.

“What.” It wasn’t a question, it was a warning – a clear signal to stop talking.

Echo didn’t take it.

“She left you behind, Bellamy. She picked herself over you, she got people killed, she forced us into a war that destroyed the valley.”

Bellamy was standing stock still, his hands shaking with pent-up anger, and Shaw and Murphy were also wearing dark expressions.

“That’s not what happened.” Shaw said calmly.

“I highly recommend that you stop talking now.” Murphy added.

“Why? Why are you all suddenly back on her side? She almost got Bellamy killed and you’re all falling over yourselves to defend her! It’s ridiculous!”

“I need air.” Bellamy snapped.

He stormed from the room amid shouts of protest from his friends, but was relieved to see that none of them had followed him. What he really needed was to be alone for a while.

He wasn’t even paying attention to where he was going, he was just walking, which is why it surprised him when he bumped directly into Clarke, who seemed to be walking purposefully in the other direction.

“Sorry,” his arm snaked out to steady her.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t be – this was really the only chance we were gonna have to talk anyway, what with the way you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m not–”

“No?” She asked, eyes burning with cold fire, “When was the last time we spoke, Bellamy?”

He faltered, heart climbing into his throat.

“I…”

“You can’t remember.” She snapped.

“Clarke, I,” he tried, but she had already wrenched her arm from his grip.

She started walking away down the hall, not even shooting a glance behind her as she spoke. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to have a little chat with someone. Go back to your precious _family.”_

With that, she was gone, and Bellamy was left standing alone, wondering why he no longer recognised his best friend.  


* * *

  
_I'm wasted, losing time_  
_I'm a foolish, fragile spine_  
_I want all that is not mine_  
_I want him but we're not right_  
  
_In the darkness I will meet my creators_  
_And they will all agree, that I'm a suffocator_  
**Smother - Daughter**

 

 

  
  
Clarke jolted awake, gasping.

The nightmare was already gone, but the fear and fury remained, and she tried to regain her bearings.

It took her a moment to realise that she wasn’t in her room.

She wasn’t even _inside._

“Shit.”

The lake stretched out in front of her and a breeze rolled through, alerting her to the fact that she was fully dressed, and morning light was creeping up over the treeline.

She didn’t remember how she got there.

Hell, she couldn’t even remember falling asleep. All she knew was the sensation of waking up in a panic.

Clarke checked her watch, only to see that it was two days since she last remembered doing so.

She was losing time.

 _“Shit.”_  
  


* * *

_Someone finds salvation in everyone_  
_Another only pain_  
_Someone tries to hide himself_  
_Down inside himself he prays_  
_Someone swears his true love_  
_Until the end of time_  
_Another runs away_  
_Separate or united_  
_Healthy or insane_  
**Be Yourself - Audioslave**

 

 

  
  
  
Bellamy had spent the last two days reeling from his brief conversation with Clarke, and his blow-up with Echo. Murphy had made one too many jokes about him being ‘unlucky in love’ and now he was on a timeout as well.

He was trying to get his head on straight, pacing down empty corridors, when he noticed a familiar figure up ahead, unlocking a door.

It was a long shot, but at this point he was willing to try.

“Doctor Shore!” He called out, and the elderly man froze in the doorway, turning his head.

“Ah, Mr Blake, how are you feeling today?”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you some questions? Somewhere quiet?”

He surveyed him a moment. “Of course, step into my office.”

The door swung shut with a soft snick behind them and Bellamy sat down in the chair in front of the desk, taking the opportunity to glance around at all the medical paraphernalia.

“What seems to be troubling you, Mr Blake?”

He hesitated, wringing his hands. “Look, I know there’s probably a lot of confidentially in your field, but I need to know if… I just… Is Clarke okay?”

Doctor Shore tilted his head while he thought the question over. “In what sense?”

“She’s just, she’s been behaving oddly and I don’t really know how to approach her – I don’t want to bring anything up that might upset her, or… When she came in here, did she seem alright to you?”

Doctor Shore tutted and spun his chair around to grab a file from one of the shelves, thumbing through it until he reached a specific page, scanning it for something. He frowned down at it pensively before he returned it to its rightful place. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the desk.

“Mr Blake, I cannot tell you the personal details of anyone I have examined, which I am sure you would appreciate should anyone come here asking about _your_ file–”

“–I know, I’m sorry, I just–”

“–but I _can_ tell that you’re concerned, and that you’re trying to do the right thing by Miss Griffin. So I can discuss a hypothetical female patient who visited me over a month ago, as the rest of you did, to be evaluated. Does that sound like something that might be helpful?”

Bellamy closed his mouth immediately, nodding.

Doctor Shore sat up a little straighter. “Good. Now, I can tell you that such a woman may have presented with anxiety, depression and PTSD-like symptoms, and that I recommended a course of drugs which she politely declined. I also discussed the possibility of weekly meetings in my office, which she also declined. She doesn’t trust us, understandably. However, she is rather diplomatic in her complete and utter distrust of me, and never once had a rude word to say. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Hypothetically.” Bellamy echoed.

“She also had extreme emotional fatigue from a great deal of time in isolation–”

“–She talked to you about that?” He asked, shocked.

“I’m afraid I got nothing more than one-word answers from Miss Grif- this woman.”

“So then how could you know about…?”

Doctor Shore gestured at the machine in the corner of the room, the one Bellamy distinctly remembered having to sit in for five long minutes while it hummed ominously at him. It wasn’t his favourite experience.

“The Brain And Temporal Emotional State machine, or BATES. He scans your brain going back ten years of active brain function to look into your psyche, your intellect, and any deep-rooted issues you may have in order for us to create a clear picture of who you are as a person. I am very good at my job, Mr Blake, but if something slips through the cracks and I accidentally let a predatory man work with children, or a violent woman become a nurse, I would never be able to live with myself. And I’m only human; things will invariably slip through the cracks. BATES here ensure that that doesn’t happen.”

Bellamy scrubbed a hand through his hair. “So, uh, BATES told you all this about the hypothetical woman?”

“The specifics, yes. Anyone with eyes could see that the woman was struggling, but BATES told me of the pain and hardships she went through, all the loss and isolation. I don’t know anything about the specifics, only what her emotional state was at any given time in those ten years. And from all the data it collected, one thing stuck out over everything else. She’s so dreadfully _lonely.”_

Bellamy swallowed painfully. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d always know that had to be the case, but hearing it said aloud like that, so plainly, made his heart ache. He shook his head a little, trying to regain his focus.

“But nothing there about… mood swings?”

Doctor Shore looked a little baffled. “Of what kind?”

“Anger, frustration, things like that.”

“Not any more than anyone else I sat down with, Mr Blake. No more than yourself. Why do you ask?”

He tugged at his sleeve anxiously. “I just can’t seem to get a read on her. One minute she’s withdrawn, the next she’s picking fights in the courtyard. It doesn’t make sense, it’s not… it’s not _her._ At least, not the Clarke _I knew.”_

“Are you certain that they’re… mood swings? Have you got eyes on her every minute of the day? Perhaps something has been happening to alter her mood? Does anyone here have any gripes with her?”

Bellamy hesitated.

Doctor Shore sighed. “Mr Blake, I don’t know what to tell you. There’s nothing in my file that would suggest she would act as such, but I cannot predict whether or not she might be angry or upset from one moment to the next. She’s been fighting the world since she was sixteen years old. It would take a toll on anyone. If she expresses it a little oddly sometimes, that’s understandable. I can _promise you,_ however, that there is absolutely no chance of her hurting anyone else.”

“You said the machine goes back ten years of, uh, _active_ brain function.”

“Yes.”

“Is there any chance the long stay in cryo might have messed with your readings?”

“Not at all.” He said firmly. “The only thing that might mess with BATES is foreign technology, of which there was none on her person. Perhaps you are simply struggling to reconcile the woman you once knew with the woman who came back to you.”

Bellamy involuntarily clenched his fists.

Doctor Shore observed him quietly before he reached over and placed a hand on his arm. “I know the loss you felt for those six years, Mr Blake: different to hers, more potent, and so very raw. It must have been agony for you. I cannot imagine going through something like that. To lose the person you love most in the world…”

“She’s not–” Bellamy started, but he cut himself off. Even back then, so long ago, his sister – the person he would have said was the most important – was pulling away and Clarke was still standing by him: like she always did.

“I think she is.” Doctor Shore said patiently. “And I think you don’t know what to do with that. I think you had to learn not to love her just so you could wake up every day and breathe again. But she’s here now, she’s back, and you’re stuck in limbo.”

Bellamy’s jaw twitched from the effort of not arguing back. He came here to talk about Clarke, not get psychoanalysed, and the worst part was that Shore was _right._ He got to his feet, backing towards the door. “Right. Thanks for your help, I appreciate it.”

“Mr Blake?”

He paused, his hand on the doorknob.

“She thought about you a lot, in those six years.”

He slumped, feeling tears pressing against the insides of his cheeks again. That had been happening a lot lately where Clarke was concerned. He took a shaky breath and opened the door.

“I know.” He said softly.

He didn’t move.

Doctor Shore didn’t speak, just waited.

Finally, Bellamy took a breath. “You’re wrong, by the way. I never stopped loving Clarke. I wouldn’t know how.”  
  


* * *

_Tell the mirror what you know she's heard before_  
_I don't wanna be you anymore_  
  
_Hands, hands getting cold_  
_Losing feeling's getting old_  
_Was I made from a broken mold?_  
_Hurt, I can't shake_  
_We've made every mistake_  
_Only you know the way that I break_  
**idontwannabeyouanymore - Billie Eilish**

 

 

 

  
  
Clarke stared herself down in the mirror, trying to see past all the things she didn’t recognise, trying to reach the part of herself that she knew.

“I’m going to see Raven!” Madi called out from the living room.

Clarke slumped over the sink, energy all but spent on the simple act of looking herself in the eye.

“Okay. What time are you coming home?”

“I’m not sure; Raven’ll walk me back, I’ve got a key.”

“Okay.” This time, the word was barely a whisper, but Madi didn’t even hear it; too busy grabbing her bag to walk out the door.

Clarke gathered the strength to lift her head, meeting her own gaze again. She still hadn’t regained any memory of the last two days, and it was starting to scare her. It was one thing to be a little dazed after waking up in an odd place, but to still have no recollection hours later? That was petrifying.

 _“I told you, you’re going crazy.”_ That familiar voice muttered.

“Shut up.” She said, hand tightening over the sink.

_“Why? I don’t think you want me to. I know you think I’m right, Clarke.”_

“I don’t.”

 _“No?”_ The second voice chimed in. _“You actually think you’re doing okay?”_

There was the third one. _“You’re losing time, Clarke.”_

_“Sane people don’t do that.”_

Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!” She swept a hand across the sink, knocking everything on it to the floor.

She dug her nails into her palms and tried not to think about the fiery hands crawling up her spine, curling around her throat.

_“You can’t stop what you can’t acknowledge, Clarke.”_

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She asked aloud, biting at the inside of her cheek when she realised how insane she would sound if anyone walked in.

_“You have to start listening, Clarke.”_

She grabbed her jacket off the bed and strode towards the door. “No, what I need is professional help.”

_“It’s not going to work.”_

_“There’s nothing that doctor can do to fix what you broke.”_

“I don’t care,” she yanked the door open. “I have to try.”

 

* * *

 

 _The light has fallen from the stars_  
_Now we are sinking through the night_  
_Out of sight we're falling underground_  
_Pick up the pieces left of us_  
**Circles - Ludovico Einaudi**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bellamy had been looking for Clarke all morning.

He wanted to talk to her, to sit down and ask what had been going on with her lately, ask if she was okay.

He found Madi chatting with Raven and Shaw, and asked if they’d seen her. All of them shrugged, and Madi told him she’d last seen Clarke at their place.

But when he knocked on the door, there was no answer and the apartment looked empty.

So he started pacing the castle again, searching for her everywhere he could think of. He was beginning to feel the seed of doubt that Echo planted take root in his chest.

_“You don’t really know her anymore, do you?”_

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe the Clarke he had known and loved for so long really was dead. But if she was, if she died after Praimfaya or when he came back and brought war with him, or when he put the chip in Madi, or when she left him behind, then he could only blame himself. He was the one who left her to align that tower on her own.

The nights he’d lain awake just going over that day, again and again until his eyes watered and his heart ached; replaying every way he could have saved her and didn’t.

He sighed, just about to give up the search, when it occurred to him that Doctor Shore might know where she was, or if not, he could at least help him find her. It didn’t take long to work out which direction to travel in, and soon Bellamy was well on his way towards the doctor’s office.

However, when he rounded the corner, the door was half-open.

_Odd._

He slowed down, taking slow steps forward and checking behind him for attackers. He knew he was probably being ridiculous – nothing bad had happened at all since they arrived on the new planet – but something just wasn’t right about a half-open door with no person in sight.

A step.

Two.

“Bellamy?” Clarke burst from the room, sprinting towards him. She stumbled and he held out his arms to catch her as she fell against his side. He faintly remembered a time back on Earth when something similar had happened, but that was different.

This was so much worse.

Clarke was covered in blood and there was panic in her eyes and tears on her cheeks.

“Are you okay, are you hurt?” He asked frantically, eyes raking over her.

She shook her head. “But… Doctor Shore…”

She didn’t need to finish the sentence; Bellamy already knew what she was going to say.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She was gripping at his shirt, scrunching it between her fingers anxiously. “I went to see him, but the door was open, and… god, Bellamy, there’s so much blood. He was still breathing, so I tried, _I tried_ to save him but there was nothing I could do, I…”

“It’s okay.” He squeezed her hand. “Stay here.”

When he let go of her, she leaned back against the wall, and he could see the way her hands, dripping red, were shaking at her sides.

He moved forward, pushing the door open all the way.

Doctor Shore’s body was twisted, mangled on the floor, eyes wide open and unseeing. His throat had been slit, and there were other, smaller cuts – like he’d been tortured – on his face and across his arms.

Bellamy checked the scene for anything distinctive, and caught the glint of something on the floor. When he bent down, he could see it, peeking out from under the desk. A piece of metal, chipped off a blade and dulled only by the blood it was soaked in. No doubt that was the murder weapon, but there were no swords in Janus. The city was supposed to be a weapon-free zone.

“What the fuck?!” Murphy’s voice was sharp in the corridor, and then there were multiple footsteps running towards the open door. “Clarke, are you alright?”

Bellamy left the room, coming face to face with Murphy, Emori and Jordan, all of whom were hovering around Clarke and glancing between her and each other.

“She’s not hurt, just shaken.” He said, and their heads swung round to stare at him in shock. When they made to step closer, he held up a hand. “Not a good idea. We need to get Janusian authorities down here now.”

“Why?” Jordan said, at the same time as Emori asked,

“What the hell is going on?!”

Clarke’s voice was devoid of emotion when she said, “Doctor Shore is dead.” She looked down at her red hands, but she seemed distracted. “I couldn’t save him.”

“Shit.” Murphy said. “This is very much not good for us, isn’t it?”

“Unless someone else in Janus held a grudge against Shore and just waited until strangers happened to arrive to commit a murder, yeah – we’re in trouble.” Bellamy gestured at Murphy, who reluctantly started backing towards the direction of Russell’s quarters.

Within minutes, Russell and an entire patrol of soldiers and people in lab-coats were sprinting into view. They cleared the area and pulled Clarke aside for questioning and Bellamy watched as they started bagging up evidence and marking things down.

Raven, Madi and Shaw must have heard, because soon they were all there, and Madi tried to get to Clarke, but she was stopped by a woman who told her she would have to wait until Clarke had given a full statement.

Bellamy felt something pulling at his gut, something he should have noticed and didn’t.

It wasn’t until someone’s metal forensic device flashed in the light that it struck him.

He recognised the shard from the murder weapon.

It was Octavia’s.

* * *

_Spirits in my room, friend or foe?_  
_Felt it in my youth, feel it when I'm old_  
**Jumpsuit - 21 Pilots**  

 

 

 

 

 

Clarke collapsed against the shower wall. 

She didn't even bother taking her clothes off, she just sat on the floor of the shower and leaned her head against the cool tiles. The water was pooling red as it swirled towards the drain, and she wondered if she would ever be finished cleaning blood from her hands. 

Then, she realised.

She didn't remember walking into Doctor Shore's office. 

She didn't remember anything after she left her apartment to find him.

She remembered seeing him on the floor.

She remembered trying to stop the bleeding, talking to him, begging him to stay with her. 

She remembered hearing footsteps in the hall and running out to see Bellamy. 

She hadn't thought twice before she let him take her weight. Just like it used to be. 

Then, once everyone else arrived, it was a stark reminder that they weren't like that anymore.

She was alone.

_"And you can't remember where you were when the doctor was stabbed."_

She was alone, and she was terrified that she was going crazy.  _  
_

* * *

 

 _No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue_  
_I could not foresee this thing happening to you_  
**Paint It Black - Ciara**

 

 

 

 

Octavia was arrested that night.

She was handcuffed and paraded through the mess hall on the way to the jail cells, just as everyone was sitting down to dinner. Everyone watched, enraptured, as the person responsible for killing the kindly old doctor was taken into custody.

Octavia looked defiant, and when she met Bellamy’s gaze, there was steel in it, but there was something behind it. Just a flash, but it was there: _fear._

When she passed the centre of the room, Bellamy let his gaze drop, only to catch sight of Clarke leaning against the opposite wall.

Instantly, he felt like something wasn’t quite right.

After Clarke had finished being questioned earlier, she had been dismissed to clean herself up. She didn’t even look at anyone as she left, she just kept her head down, hugging herself tightly. Again, Madi tried to follow her, but this time it was Clarke herself who shook her head. Bellamy knew that look – the desperation to be alone, to sit in the burden of what she’d seen.

Now, hours later, she looked like a different person.

She was angled lazily next to the door, head tilted as she watched the procession, and when Octavia turned to look at her, her lips tweaked slightly.

Octavia started fighting against her restraints and screaming incomprehensibly, kicking out at the nearest guard in her attempts to escape.

Clarke mouthed something which looked a lot like, “Having fun yet?”

The guards managed to regain control, and tamped their hands over Octavia’s mouth. She was sedated within seconds, and they carried her from the room with no ceremony.

Bellamy’s eyes flicked back to Clarke, and as she pushed herself off from the wall and strode from the room, he was almost certain he could see her smile.

What the hell was going on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think??
> 
> Too much???
> 
> Not enough???????
> 
> Needs more murder??? (who am i kidding, it always needs more murder)
> 
> Anyone have any theories as to what in HECK is going on?!??!
> 
> I hope you're enjoying it so far!!!


	2. Where My Mind Got Torn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It didn’t take long to realise that wasn’t what she was drawing, however. Black lines moved across the paper, curving and scratching and forming something. It was a self-portrait, one in which she barely recognised herself._
> 
> _Her hair was hanging in neat waves, and her eyes were black as night and staring out of the page like they could see her. Her lips were pulled up in a snarl and she hated it, hated the image and wherever it came from, but she couldn’t seem to stop drawing. The more she tried, the harder she pressed the pencil into the paper and the more frightening the image became._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, yeah, yeah, i upped the chapter count from 3 to 5, i don't wanna talk about it. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're buckled in, because this chapter is about to take a left turn towards Crazy Town....... and chapter 3 is even _worse._ So do with that information what you will. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

_Run...Run_  
_I'm tired but I can't sleep_  
_'Cause they're waiting for me_  
_These bad dreams are more than true_  
_And they'll get you_  
_And they'll get you_  
  
_Darling, I've been having weird dreams_  
_I don't know what they mean_  
_But I know I don't want to_  
_Darling, this is getting scary_  
_Why can't I stop shaking_  
_I hope you don't see them_  
  
_Glances, all I see are glances left and right_  
_They like it when they know I'm anxious_  
_Shadows, all I see are shadows_  
_Hiding where the wind blows_  
_And where my mind got torn_  
**Bad Dreams - Faouzia**

 

 

 

_Her arm arced upwards, slicing through the air, and then Doctor Shore was falling back, a look of surprise on his face as he collapsed._

_She crouched down over him, head tilted as she watched the life draining from his eyes and the blood gush from his veins. The red was spreading, colouring the floor, and she liked the way it looked._

_“Clarke… please…” He gurgled, and she allowed him to see the way her lips curved upwards at the plea._

_“She’s not in here, Doc. She can’t hear you.”_

_“Cl–”_

_He cut himself off with a moan of pain when the knife in her hand found its way under the wrinkled skin of his arm. Then the other. Then his chest._

_As the man lay dying before her, she revelled in drawing every last bit of pain out of him that she could._

_He deserved it._

_They all deserved it._

_She was going to make them all suffer._

_Just like **she** had._

Clarke’s eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright, scrambling back in her bed until her shoulders hit the cold wall; solid, unmoving behind her. This had been the worst one yet, she knew that, even if she couldn’t remember it.

Her hands felt heavy, and when she brought them up to move the hair from her face, they shook harder than they ever had before.

The dream was out of reach, but it wasn’t gone, not in the way they usually were. This time, she could feel it. It was hovering at the edge of her mind, dancing away every time she tried to find it, but it was _there._

She checked the time: three in the morning.

Her mouth was dry and her eyes were watering and everything felt like it was off-kilter, spinning out of orbit.

The room was dark and Madi was a few rooms away, hopefully sleeping soundly in her bed, and not for the first time, Clarke wished they were somewhere else. That she was _someone_ else. If she was, then perhaps she wouldn’t be drowning on dry land, screaming for help under water that nobody could see. The shadows were oppressive, suffocating, tendrils that curled into her hair, her limbs, her heart, and she had to get out of there.

She threw on some shoes and snuck out of her apartment, being careful not to wake her daughter.

It wasn’t until she was out of the castle walls that she stopped worrying about disturbing the peace and just started _running._

She didn’t know where she was going, she just knew she had to run.

She had to escape the shadows.

The voices.

_“You really think it’ll be that easy, Clarke?”_

She closed her eyes, legs still powering her forward. She wasn’t going to respond to them – that was what they wanted.

_“There’s no point.”_

_“There’s no getting away from this.”_

She didn’t open her eyes.

_“This is foolish.”_

One foot after the other.

_“We’re part of you, Clarke. You can’t outrun yourself.”_

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

And then her toe caught on something and she pitched forward, sprawling onto the grass. Still, she didn’t allow her eyelids to crack, only squeezing them tighter. It was easier out here; the air was softer, more forgiving, and it was cool enough to settle her nerves a little.

There was the rumble of distant footsteps, but maybe it was just the thumping pulse in her ears. Her world narrowed to a pinpoint – it was just her, alone, lying in the grass and refusing to look up at the sky she knew was full of glittering stars, for fear that she might only see darkness.

There was nothing left in the world but loss and panic and pain.

Nothing.

Except the fingers on her shoulder, gripping tight while someone called her name.

“–arke, are you okay?” He asked, and she wanted to curl up and vanish, because she knew that voice, better than she knew her own.

She cracked her eyes open to see Bellamy hovering over her, worry all over his face. “I’m fine.”

His expression shuttered at the reserved tone of voice, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he helped her sit up before he collapsed to the ground next to her, propping himself up on his elbows. “Yeah, sure seems that way.”

She didn’t blame the sarcastic bite, but she wished it didn’t hurt quite as much as it did. She knew why he was upset with her, that it was hard for them to feel normal with each other, especially now, but it still hurt. She had a feeling it would never stop.

They were on the edge of the forest and the suns were coming up.

Hours must have passed since she started running, but it felt like minutes.

How long had her eyes been closed?

“You’re up early.” She said.

“So are you.” He returned. “How long have you been running?”

“Hundred and thirty-one years.” She deadpanned, before she could second guess herself.

Luckily, he found it funny, chuckling quietly to himself. “Alright, how long have you been running for _today?”_

“Since three.”

The amused expression fell off his face. “Jesus, Clarke.”

“I’m fine.” She said again, hurriedly this time.

_“Way to be believable.”_

She ignored the voice and watched as Bellamy’s expression grew steadily more sombre the longer he looked at her. She was hyperaware that this was the longest time they’d spent alone together since they’d woken the others on the Eligius ship, and that it had been a long time since he’d looked at her like this. Like he used to.

“When was the last time you ate?”

The question wasn’t what she was expecting, but she probably should have known better; Bellamy worried about the people he cared about and he always would. Even if those people left him behind.

“Before I went to sleep.” Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie. Clarke couldn’t remember the last time she ate, was sure it had probably been days, but the last time she recalled actually consuming food was at dinner over a week ago. He was frowning like he didn’t believe her and she waved a hand, attempting to change the subject. “How are you holding up?”

He grimaced. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, Bellamy.” She said, and she meant about the fact that he’d found her covered in blood, about the fact that he had to see Shore’s body, about his sister’s imprisonment, but when the words slipped from her lips it sounded like she was apologising for so much more.

He seemed to know, if the way his eyes softened was any indication. “It’s not your fault, Clarke.”

“Isn’t it?” The edge of bitterness in her voice was nothing new, but she realised with a jolt that it was the exact same edge that the voices always carried with them.

“Clarke,” Bellamy started, but she pushed herself to her feet.

“I should go shower before I wake Madi.” She said. Her feet were already carrying her away from him, but her traitorous eyes still sought him out as she left, making her falter. He was in the same position he had been since he sat down beside her, but there was something defeated to it now, slumped, even as he met her gaze with an earnest look, like he was trying to ask her something without saying the words. She remembered a time when that would have been easy for them.

Her hand came up in a kind of half-wave. “See you on Friday.”

She didn’t look back again.

 

* * *

 

 

 _And I want you_  
_From somewhere within_  
_It feels like there's oceans_  
_Between me and you once again_  
_We hide our emotions_  
_Under the surface and tryin' to pretend_  
_But it feels like there's oceans_  
_Between you and me_  
**Oceans - Seafret**

 

 

 

 

Doctor Shore’s funeral took place on a Friday: a bright, sunny afternoon, where everyone attending wore black and kept their faces solemn.

It was a stark contrast to the usual joy in the air ever since they’d arrived, and for the first time, they were finally beginning to feel unwanted.

It was _their_ fault that the doctor died.

They were the outsiders.

They were the ones who brought a killer amongst them.

Bellamy was standing with Raven, Shaw and Jordan, and there was more than one pair of angry eyes on them, on _him._

_His sister, his responsibility._

Like she could hear what he was thinking, Clarke suddenly appeared at his shoulder, voice scratchy from underuse but her eyes earnest as they searched his. “It’s not your fault.”

He hadn’t seen her since Wednesday morning, when he’d been out for a walk to clear his head and seen her stumble and hit the ground hard. He’d started running towards her before he even realised what he was doing, automatically checking her for injuries, desperate to make sure she was okay. For the briefest of moments, it had felt like they were back on Earth; co-leaders, supporting each other, worrying after each other, _loving_ each other.

Because she did. She loved him.

Raven was right, he couldn’t ignore that anymore.

Not with the way Clarke knew better than anyone else what he was thinking, so much so that she’d appeared to reassure him despite no-one else noticing his internal battle.

His eyebrows pulled together as he looked down at her. She was wearing all black, her hair pulled away from her face with clips, and she looked tired. Her arms were crossed over her stomach, like she could shield herself from the world around her with just her forearms. It was disconcerting, seeing her look so out of sorts up close. He’d been watching it from afar for so long that being able to see the bags under her eyes with this much clarity made his heart clench.

She took his silence as confusion. “What Octavia did… it’s not your fault, Bellamy.”

“I raised her.” He said quietly.

“You did the best you could.” She lifted a hand as if to squeeze his arm reassuringly, but seemed to think the better of it, tucking it back into the crook of her elbow. “Sometimes… sometimes people are just beyond help.”

She didn’t look at him when she spoke, but there was something about the creases around her eyes that made his heart fall into his shoes. They both knew she wasn’t only talking about Octavia.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the quiet murmurs of the crowd suddenly gave way to silence as Russell began to speak, and Clarke used the distraction to shuffle away.

Bellamy mostly tuned it out, watching Clarke’s back as she retreated towards the park. Guilt was starting to set in; he hated the part of him that suspected her of killing the doctor, because he _knew_ her. It was _Clarke._

_His Clarke._

She wouldn’t kill a man in cold blood, not without a good reason. She wouldn’t torture a man who had only ever wanted to help people. He wanted to follow her, more than anything, but Raven grabbed his elbow and his attention reluctantly returned to the procession.

“Doctor Shore wouldn’t want us to be divided,” Russell was standing at a podium, talking to the swathes of people who all looked up at him with equal parts sadness and resignation. “He wouldn’t want us to fight these newcomers. He wouldn’t even want us to hate the person who took him away from us; Doctor Shore was a kind-hearted member of this community, and we should uphold his legacy – remember him as he was in life.”

A mumble of assent rippled around the crowds, and some of the dark glares shifted away from them.

When Russell stepped away from the podium and down the stairs, Bellamy hailed his attention.

“What is it, Mr Blake?”

“I was wondering,” he paused, anxious, “is it possible for me to talk to my sister? Before the trial, I mean. I just… I want to know why she did what she did.”

Russell appraised him for a moment. “I suppose I can’t see the harm in that. She’s been under sedation since we took her in, but we could wake her for an hour or two, provided you don’t attempt anything.”

“If my sister killed the doctor, she deserves whatever punishment is coming to her. I wouldn’t help her escape.” He said sharply, and Russell almost smiled.

“Well then.” He nodded. “The cell door will be allowed open for you, whenever you decide to go.”

Madi approached and muttered something to Russell, who shrugged apologetically and left with the child. Bellamy tried to remember the last time he’d seen Madi doing something unrelated to being Commander, and he found he couldn’t. He pushed down the flicker of guilt he felt at that. He would have time to feel guilty about it later; right now, he needed to hold it together long enough to figure out if his suspicions were correct.

Jordan pressed his lips together. “Ready to go?”

He shook himself from his reverie to see Jordan, Raven, Murphy and Emori all standing in front of him expectantly.

He sighed. “Not at all.”

The five of them slipped from the funeral in silence, and Murphy squeezed his shoulder as they walked.

No matter what they uncovered, someone Bellamy loved was going down for murder.

This was really, really bad.

* * *

 

 _Oh, I'm still hurting and I'm still here_  
_You're still not looking at me, my dear_  
_I'll watch you leaving, I'll watch you go_  
_And I'll start nothing_  
_But we both know_

 _In my head_  
_In my head_  
_In my head_  
_In my head_  
_I'm yours_  
**In My Head – Maisie Peters**

 

 

 

 

Clarke watched the people she used to know as they quietly ducked away, and pondered when it was that she truly lost them; whether it was after they returned to the ground, or before they even left.

_“Maybe you never had them.”_

She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the voice.

They’d been getting louder ever since Doctor Shore died – like they knew that without him, without the hope of someone to help, she was powerless to stop them.

Perhaps she was.

 _“It’s a pity. You needed them so much, just to stay alive, and they despised you.”_ There was the second voice.

 _“Every choice you made, they condemned you for it.”_ The first said.

The third was sarcastic. _“What good friends they were.”_

_“You don’t need them anymore, Clarke.”_

_“You have yourself.”_

_“You have us.”_

“I don’t _want_ you.” She whispered before she could stop herself. She glanced around, but no-one seemed to have seen her. Still, it was too exposing – talking to herself out in the open – so she made her way towards the nearest exit.

They were mocking her now.

_“What’s wrong, Clarke?”_

_“Scared?”_

_“Of us?”_

_“Or yourself.”_

At the speed she was walking, it didn’t take her long to leave the wake behind. She was sure she garnered a few disapproving looks, but she didn’t care; she just needed to get out of there. She broke into a job the second she rounded the corner. Clarke reached her apartment and slammed the door shut behind her, leaning on it heavily. “Shut up.”

_“Talking to yourself now?”_

_“You’re definitely slipping off the deep end this time.”_

“What do you mean, this time?”

_“C’mon, Clarke, you’ve always been a little crazy.”_

_“You killed Finn and then hallucinated him.”_

_“You fell in the love with the person who made you kill him and betrayed you.”_

_“You ran away after Mount Weather.”_

_“You injected yourself with nightblood.”_

_“You fell in love with the one person you know you can’t have.”_

_“Then you left him behind.”_

_“And now you can’t stop loving him even though he doesn’t love you back.”_

**“SHUT UP!”** Clarke screamed, clutching at her hair as she slid to the floor in a heap, her spine bumping at the ridges of the wooden door uncomfortably.

_“Haven’t you worked it out yet, Clarke?”_

“Worked what out?”

_“I thought you were supposed to be clever.”_

_“Maybe if Monty were still here, he could help you.”_

_“Pity he’s gone.”_

_“Yet another casualty of your actions.”_

Clarke shook her head frantically, tears leaving streaks in the make-up she’d worn to hide the pallor of her skin. “No, he lived a good life, he–”

_“–he might have lived a better one if you hadn’t betrayed them. Maybe the planet would have survived.”_

_“Maybe you should have just killed them when they arrived.”_

_“Saved us all the trouble.”_

_“Maybe if you’d let Diyoza kill everyone, you’d have the planet to yourself again.”_

“I don’t want that. I never wanted that.” She tried, but she heard them scoff.

_“But you hate them, Clarke.”_

“I don’t.”

_“You can’t lie to us.”_

_“We know.”_

_“You resent them for what they did.”_

_“For leaving.”_

_“For always leaving.”_

Clarke clutched at her legs, holding herself tightly to keep herself tethered to what was real. “That’s not true. I was always the one who left. I always left Bellamy behind.”

_“Only so he didn’t have the chance to leave you first.”_

_“Like your father.”_

_“Wells.”_

_“Finn.”_

_“Lexa.”_

_“Jasper.”_

_“All of them die or walk away, Clarke.”_

_“Or both.”_

_“You left Bellamy so he couldn’t do it first.”_

_“And then he did it anyway.”_

**_“How does it feel, Clarke?”_ **

She sobbed, scratching at the skin of her calves as she tried to push the voices out. Everything was crashing down on her and all she could hear and feel and see was her own mistakes, her own pain.

_“There’s no-one left.”_

_“No-one left who loves you.”_

_“Madi doesn’t need you anymore.”_

_“You’re all alone.”_

Clarke felt her nails break skin, and warm liquid slowly dripped down her shins. She let her head fall back against the door, tears still falling even as she felt every bit of fight go out of her. She couldn’t feel the panic or pain or defiance anymore; she couldn’t feel _anything._ She was numb.

“I’m all alone.”

 

* * *

 

 _Lately I've been using you to mess it all up_  
_'Cause it's been easier to fall than try to walk_  
_But the cars don't come around the way they used to_

 _In this empty house_  
_I called my home_  
_Did I let you down?_  
_I'll never know_  
**Empty House – Billy Lockett**

 

 

 

 

 

“So what’s the plan?” Murphy asked, sticking his feet up on the keyboard.

They were on the bridge of the Eligius ship, and they’d agreed the night before not to tell anyone else about the meeting. Jordan had made sure to lock the doors behind them.

Bellamy ran his hands through his hair as he paced back and forth in front of his friends. Murphy was closest, leaning back in his chair next to Emori, who was beside Raven and Echo. Shaw was standing behind them, and Miller was leaning against the wall near Jordan, who was hopping nervously from foot to foot and staring around expectantly at them all.

“The plan is we find out who killed the doctor.” Bellamy stated. “And then we hand them over to Russell.”

“No matter who it is?” Emori asked, and there was another question underneath it, one they could all hear.

Bellamy nodded distractedly, still pacing. “No matter who it is.”

“But, what if–”

“–Madi knows.” Raven said suddenly, cutting her off. “She knows we’re investigating. I think she even knows why, but she told me she wasn’t going to interfere. She said that if she could, she would help, but there’s a lot of smoothing over to do now that one of our own has killed one of theirs.”

“Getting a twelve-year-old’s blessing to investigate if her mother murdered a kind old man in cold blood? Not a sentence I ever thought I’d say.” Murphy quipped.

“As if our lives haven’t always been weird.” Miller deadpanned, making Murphy snort.

“Glad to see you’re finding this so funny.” Bellamy growled, making them both drop their heads sheepishly. He planted his feet and faced them all, trying to keep his expression neutral despite the ocean of emotions raging beneath it.

“Sorry.” Murphy said, almost sounding like he meant it, which was confusing. “What do you want us to do, Blake?”

“I want you to stop talking,” he said pointedly. “Look, I don’t want to turn this into ‘all of us against Clarke’. It didn’t go well last time and I don’t want to make her feel like we’re attacking her again, especially if this time… if she’s… if… We don’t even know if she did anything, we just know she’s been acting oddly – that’s not proof. So I don’t want anyone trying to attack her or accuse her until we’re completely sure, okay?”

He waited until all of them nodded before continuing.

“Good. Murphy I think you should try and talk to her. You and Jordan.”

“At the same time?” He asked sceptically.

“No,” Bellamy clenched his teeth. “But I think we need to try both approaches.”

Murphy shrugged. “Cool. Want me to go now?”

“Uh. Uh, yeah, sure.” He nodded, and Murphy took that as a dismissal, sliding from the room. Emori leaned back to lock the door after him. Bellamy resumed his pacing. “Raven I think you and Shaw should check with the investigation, see if there’s any way there were other witnesses, or camera footage anywhere. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s all we have.”

“I’ll talk to the hospital, see if I can find anything on record about Octavia.” Jackson offered.

Bellamy tilted his head in thanks. “Echo, Emori and Miller… I need you to keep an eye on Clarke. Don’t approach her or engage in any way, just. Just watch her, track her movements.”

“Report back if we see anything strange?” Miller guessed.

“Why do we even hold meetings if you’re all just going to say exactly what I’m thinking?” Bellamy wondered aloud.

“Quality time as a family, remember dad?” Murphy’s voice carried through the walls.

“Get the fuck out of here Murphy, you have a job to do!” Miller clapped back, despite his wide smile.

“Whatever Miller, go back to eating people.”

“Uncalled for.”

“Fuck you! Have you _met_ me?” He yelled back, but it was faded, further away, and soon there was no sound at all. Being friends with Murphy might have its downsides, but Bellamy could never say it got boring. Definitely frustrating though.

He rocked on the balls of his feet, anxious energy flitting around his body with his pulse, from his heart to his fingertips to his toes and back again. His friends were trying to act like everything was going to be fine, and he appreciated it, he did, but until he had proof that he was just overreacting, there was no way he was going to be able to calm down.

As if sensing the sudden wave of panic, Emori stretched out, her palm closing around his forearm. “We’ll figure it out, Bellamy.”

“What if we do? What if we figure it out and it’s _her?”_ He asked desperately.

“We’ll deal with that mountain when we get to it, okay?” Raven said coolly, almost clinical in her reassurance. “Right now, we just need to know.”

 

 

* * *

 

 _And yesterday was a mistake and now I feel like I'm dying_  
_And I feel like a child seeing shadows moving dark in the night_  
**Candle – Thelma Plum**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Murphy approached her that afternoon in the mess hall, trying to speak to her for the first time since they’d touched down. She had been walking towards the food, but the second she saw him actually advancing towards her, she started backing up.

“Hey, wait up, I just wanna talk!” He’d called out.

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want to talk to you.” She muttered, turning away.

“Okay, I probably deserved that,” he said, out of breath as he jogged to a stop in front of her. “But I’m serious, Clarke, I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“I’m as okay as I was a week ago when you weren’t talking to me, and the week before that, and the week before that.” She said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m tired.”

“Yeah, you look it.”

“Dick.” She said, but it wasn’t as harsh as it could have been. She wanted to be annoyed at him, at all of them, for avoiding her, but she couldn’t blame anyone, not really. She knew it was her fault.

He could tell he was wearing her down, because he stepped in beside her and slung an arm over her shoulder. “You knew that already.”

“I suppose I did.”

“Listen, I know we haven’t exactly been close in…”

“In a hundred and thirty years?” Clarke asked.

He winced. “Uh. Yeah. But I do care about you Clarke. And you saw someone die a few days ago. I know you can’t be okay.”

“I’ve seen people die before.”

“Not like that. He was murdered, in cold blood, in the middle of the afternoon. There was no war to fight or agenda to fulfil, he was just… murdered. That can’t have been easy for you.”

“I’m fine.” She said, automatic.

He tutted. “You were _covered_ in blood when we found you. I thought you’d been hit. I was so scared that you were hurt, that someone had done something to you, that it wasn’t until Bellamy told me about the doctor that I even realised the blood was red, so it couldn’t be yours.”

“I’m okay, Murphy, really.” She sighed. “It’s just… I thought things would be different here.”

“Didn’t we all.” He hummed. He looked like he was about to ask something, the cogs turning behind his eyes and a tenseness winding its way up his shoulders as he opened his mouth, but before he could, something in his pocket beeped. He pulled it out, checking it. “Shit, I’ve gotta go. But if you’re free later, we should talk.”

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly. I’ll bring some food; you look like you need it.” He squeezed her shoulder before he stepped away. “You’re not on your own anymore, Clarke. I’m sorry if I haven’t been doing enough to show you that.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” She whispered. “I’m the one who should be sorry. If I hadn’t left Bellamy behind, you wouldn’t have been shot.”

“Or maybe I would have.” He said, shrugging. “Look at it this way; Bellamy tried to hang me, so at least your attempt to kill me was accidental.”

She couldn’t help it: she snorted. “You tried to hang him right back. Should I be expecting you to shoot me?”

“Whenever you least expect it.” He teased, nodding, and then he was gone.

She slumped, all her energy dissipating into the air. She hadn’t realised just how much she’d become used to being on her own until she was surrounded by people again; even the smallest of interactions could wipe her out for hours. Especially lately.

She wasn’t hungry anymore, so rather than returning to the dining hall for something to eat, she went down to the same bench she’d sat on barely a week earlier. It felt like eons had passed since then.

She pulled her sketchbook out and started drawing, aiming to create the landscape in front of her.

It didn’t take long to realise that wasn’t what she was drawing, however. Black lines moved across the paper, curving and scratching and forming something. It was a self-portrait, one in which she barely recognised herself.

Her hair was hanging in neat waves, and her eyes were black as night and staring out of the page like they could see her. Her lips were pulled up in a snarl and she hated it, hated the image and wherever it came from, but she couldn’t seem to stop drawing. The more she tried, the harder she pressed the pencil into the paper and the more frightening the image became.

The light was fading as the suns drifted lower, and the shadows were stretching up from the grounding, flowing into the dark lines that poured from her own fingers and the darkness enveloped her.

Or maybe she was becoming the darkness.

 

* * *

 

 _Cold bones_  
_Yeah, that's my love_  
_She hides away, like a ghost_

 _Does she know that we bleed the same?_  
_Don't wanna cry, but I break that way_  
**Where’s My Love - SYML**

 

 

 

 

Shaw was the one who found it. Raven had hacked into the system, but Shaw was the one who spotted the footage they needed.

There weren’t many cameras near the medical wing, something to do with patient privacy, and there were none in Doctor Shore’s office at all, but there was one in every second hallway. Which meant there wasn’t any footage of Doctor Shore’s door, but there was of the corridor just across from it.

With exception to Jordan, who was with Clarke, everyone had returned to the Eligius Ship when Raven sent out the call. They all crowded around the monitors on the bridge, waiting with baited breath for the moment Zeke said was coming.

“There!” He jabbed a finger at the screen.

“I don’t see anything.” Echo said.

“Rewind it.”

Raven scrolled it back and then slowed the footage down, and this time they all caught the distinctive flash of blonde as someone darted past.

“That’s near the time Doctor Shore died.”

“She found the body, that isn’t unusual.” Miller pointed out.

“How about this?” Raven asked, playing three clips, side-by-side.

The first was from a camera in the hallway in front of Clarke’s door, and soon they could see Clarke leaving her room, pulling her coat on as she strode away. The second was of her in the corridor near Shore’s office, returned in the direction she’d come from, and the third was of her moving back towards the office.

“She went to see Shore, left his office twenty minutes later, and then returned.”

“That’s…” Emori didn’t seem to be able to formulate the rest of her sentence.

“Suspicious.” Echo pointed out.

“Okay, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she killed him. Maybe she went for help before I arrived.” Bellamy rationalised.

He knew his friends were all sharing glances at his expense, but he just couldn’t do it; he refused to believe she’d killed the doctor without more proof that glimpses of blonde hair on security footage.

Of course, that was when Jackson piped up. “I checked the hospital records. Octavia was getting better. She was scheduled for release in a few weeks; with Doctor Shore’s recommendation. Why would she kill the man when he was letting her come back to society?”

“I…” Bellamy faltered. “She wouldn’t.”

Miller put a hand on his shoulder. “Bellamy, I think… I think it might be time to consider the possibility that Clarke has something to do with Shore’s death. I don’t wanna believe it either, but, I mean, _look at it._ The evidence is piling up. She might not have been the one to kill him, but she was at least _there.”_

“Plus, she’s been acting all kinds of erratic lately.” Murphy said, but there was an edge of guilt to his voice, like he hated himself for saying it.

Shaw and Raven looked at each other, something flashing across their faces, and Bellamy folded his arms. “What?”

She typed something in and then the screen switched to the view of the front of Clarke’s door.

“This was after we left the funeral this morning.”

Bellamy was about to ask what they were waiting for when Clarke sprinted down the hall, a hand coming up to scrunch a handful of hair painfully while she leaned on the door, fumbling to unlock it with the other hand. When it swung open, she practically fell inside, throwing herself back against it so it slammed shut.

Raven hit pause and waited for someone to say something.

Silence.

Then, “What the fuck?”

“I don’t know, Murphy.” Raven shook her head. “I don’t understand it, she looked…”

“Like she was running from something.” Zeke finished for her. “But we’ve checked every hallway, there’s no-one following her. And then it gets weird, because an hour later, this happens.”

He tapped a few keys and the camera jumped ahead. Clarke’s door opened and Clarke emerged. She was no longer in the clothes she’d worn for the funeral, but wearing the clothes she had been back on Earth – that leather jacket and that familiar black shirt. Bellamy was even convinced he could see a red streak in her hair, until she turned and he realised it was a trick of the light. It was uncanny how different she looked.

She was even holding herself differently, standing taller, face set more sternly.

Shaw turned a dial and the footage sped up, showing Clarke come back not half an hour later, disappearing into her room before she emerged again, back in the black funerial outfit and looking gaunt as she shuffled down the corridor, sketchbook in hand. She looked small and broken, and Bellamy wanted to hold her.

He wanted to hold her and never let go, to tell her that he was sorry and that he forgave her and that she was safe. He wanted to promise her that he’d never leave again, promise that they were in this together, that he would do everything he could to make it better.

But he couldn’t.

Not until he knew who she had become.

“I need to talk to my sister.”

 

* * *

 

 _The world's a little blurry_  
_Or maybe it's my eyes_  
_The friends I've had to bury_  
_They keep me up at night_  
_Said I couldn't love someone_  
_'Cause I might break_  
_If you're gonna die, not by mistake_  
**ilomilo – Billie Eilish**

 

 

 

 

Clarke didn’t know where she was.

All she knew was that her skin felt like ice while her blood boiled beneath it, pounding through her, roaring through her ears and drowning out the remnants of the dream she’d just woken from.

The world was cold but she was on fire, burning her way through it.

What else was new.

She pushed herself up on her elbows, arms shaky. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate. Hell, she wasn’t even sure what day it was.

 _“What’s the last thing you remember, Clarke?”_ It was the voice that always sounded familiar, the one she could never quite place.

She blinked the last dredges of the dream she couldn’t remember from her eyes, looking around. She was somewhere dark, and cold. There was barely any light, except for a small sliver of gold peeking out from the corner of room, coming from beneath what appeared to be a door.

Clarke slowly got to her feet, legs weak and unsteady under her.

 _“You’re not listening.”_ The voice sounded impatient.

“I don’t know.” She said aloud.

_“Think.”_

She leaned against the wall, too tired to move any more. “I… There was a funeral, for Doctor Shore. I saw… I saw Bellamy leave and then you… all of you… I remember Murphy, I think… I don’t know.”

_“Then you went to the park and sketched, remember?”_

She breathed in slowly, nodding despite no-one being there to see it. “Yeah. Yeah, and then I was supposed to have lunch with Madi but she was busy, and then I… There’s nothing, it’s just black. Like when I try to remember my dreams, the harder I try, the further away it gets.”

She checked her watch.

This time, at least, only two hours had passed since the last thing she could recall. Yet she couldn’t relax; she had no idea where she was standing. Her surroundings were completely unfamiliar to her. Why was she here? What was happening to her?

_“Whatever you’re here for doesn’t matter. You can figure it out later. Just get out.”_

“Why?”

_“You **want** to stay in here? You want to die of starvation in a place nobody will ever find you?”_

“No, I mean… why are you helping me?” Clarke asked as she edged her way towards the door, pausing every few seconds to belay the dizziness swirling behind her eyes. “All you ever do is torture me, why would you even want to keep me safe?”

_“You’re intelligent, Clarke, I’m sure you can work it out.”_

“What, you just want to keep me alive so you can keep torturing me, is that it?”

There was a long pause.

_“Something like that.”_

Then the voice was gone and her fingertips were wrapping around the cold metal of the handle and she was yanking it open and sprinting out, not caring where she was going – just wanting to get away. Light streamed into her eyes and they started watering immediately. She brought up her free hand to wipe them, only to see that there was a bandage around her palm that hadn’t been there earlier. It was then that she registered the familiar dull ache of pain that only came from open wounds.

When had she cut her hand?

Of the thousands of questions she had about her condition, this was maybe the one that frightened her the most. Because she was in _pain._ She’d hurt herself, badly enough that she had patched herself up, and she didn’t even remember doing it.

“There you are!” The voice was outside of her head, someone she recognised, and she turned her head to find it.

Jordan was at the end of the corridor, and she realised that she’d unconsciously made her way back towards her own apartment.

“Where have you been?” He asked. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Who’s we?” She asked, making to unlock her door. He followed her and, conscious of the fact that she felt like she was going to collapse at any moment, she sat down on the couch as soon as he was inside.

“Madi and I.” He smiled warmly. “I was going to talk to you earlier, but I couldn’t find you so I went to see Madi and she said she had to skip lunch to do something with Russell and that she hadn’t spoken to you since this morning.”

“Yeah, I went for a walk, did some sketches in the field.” She said, wondering dimly where her sketchbook had got to.

In the light of her room, she could see that her fingers were still stained with charcoal. Black had worked its way towards her palms and under her fingernails.

“What happened to your hand?” He asked casually.

She bit her lip. “Oh, I fell. Cut it.”

_“Why are you lying, Clarke?”_

It wasn’t the same voice as earlier.

For some reason that scared Clarke more; that the voices might have started acting independently of each other.

“Do you need to get it looked at?” Jordan asked, obviously to the fact that she was completely losing her mind.

“No, it’s, it’s fine, I managed.” She waved the hand, displaying the bandage.

_“Liar.”_

Her head spun a little and she dropped her arm quickly. She felt like cotton balls were being stuffed into her brain and everything was getting foggier. She tried to stand and only succeeded in stumbling against the nearest wall, using it to hold herself up.

She was going to pass out.

“Jordan?” She asked weakly. “Don’t tell Bellamy.”

The last thing she saw before unconsciousness claimed her was Jordan’s horrified face as he tried to catch her before she hit the ground.

 

* * *

 

 _I'm spinning in circles, but straight out of lines_  
_With every excuse, I've fallen behind_  
_Now watch me self-destruct, right on time_  
_I built up every wall, I've had to climb_  
**Hold It Down – Noah Kahan**

 

 

 

 

 

Octavia’s head jerked up when he entered, the door’s long creak alerting her to his presence. Her expression morphed into something like disgust before she returned her gaze to the floor.

She was sitting on the edge of a cot, with her elbow on her knees, flicking a silver coin over and over across her fingertips.

“Come to gloat?”

Bellamy folded his arms. “Why would I do that?”

“It’s what you wanted, right? You and Clarke? For me to be locked up, or dead.”

“No, I never wanted this.” He leaned against the wall across from her, hoping she knew how true those words were. “I wanted you getting better, I wanted my sister back.”

She halted the movement of her fingers, catching the coin in a flash of silver before it vanished into her palm. “Clarke did this too, you know. It won’t work.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Being nice to me.” She snapped. “Clarke spent that time talking to me, telling me just enough about herself that I would open up to her, reveal things about myself, about my schedule, just so that she knew where I would be that day.”

“I don’t understand.”

But he did. He knew where she was going with this, he just refused to acknowledge it. This couldn’t be true. His heart started beating erratically.

Octavia only scoffed. “I told Clarke that every afternoon, the hospital let me out to take walks around the forest. It’s supposed to be good for me, and I liked it, so I never missed it. The first few times they sent a guard with me, but for the last couple of weeks, they’ve trusted me enough to go out on my own. I was getting better, Bell. I _was.”_

“Okay, but what does this have to do with–”

“–I don’t have an alibi for Shore’s death because she made sure to kill him when I was alone.”

Bellamy closed his mouth, hard enough that it made his teeth hurt.

He took a deep breath. “Why… why do you think Clarke did it?”

“I don’t just think it, Bell, I _know_ she did it.” Octavia brow was set like steel. “She practically told me.”

His heart was almost sprinting now, thrumming against his ribs as his panic built. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

She raised an eyebrow. _“Oh._ You really didn’t know.”

“Know what, O?”

She sighed, seemingly taking pity on him. “You haven’t noticed that she’s been acting a little strangely lately?”

He swallowed.

“Exactly.” She said. “The day Doctor Shore died, she came to see me. And it wasn’t like that day in the park, when we talked and I saw you. She was… different. Colder. She cornered me in the forest and she… she told me I deserved to be punished, for everything I’ve done. She told me she thought I’d gotten off light, that I didn’t deserve the second chance this world was offering me. When I asked her if she thought _she_ deserved it, she got really angry. Angrier than I’ve ever seen her. I honestly… I thought she might hurt me. She shoved me up against a tree, pulled out her gun, and… She said that none of us deserved it, especially not her, but that she was starting with me first. Then she left.”

She paused, glancing up at him.

“A few hours later, guards came to arrest me.”

Bellamy wanted to slide to the ground, to stop forcing his legs to hold up the weight of everything he knew, but he couldn’t. He was standing in his sister’s cell and she was going to be executed for a crime she didn’t commit.

Because _Clarke_ did it.

“Hey, are you okay?” Octavia asked, sounding alarmed.

“No.” He snapped. He pushed himself off the wall. “I have to go.”

“What are you gonna do?!” She called after him.

“I don’t know.” He said, closing the door behind him. He shook his head, muttering softly to himself. “I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

 _You can't hide from who you are_  
_The light peels back the dark_  
_You can run but you won't make it far_  
**When The Truth Hunts You Down – Sam Tinnesz**

 

 

 

 

 

Clarke’s eyes opened, meeting her own.

She was standing, her hands wrapped around the edge of the sink, and she was facing herself in the mirror.

At least it was somewhere she recognised this time.

Then, something moved out the corner of her eye. She flicked her eyes over the mirror, looking at the wall behind her – too afraid to turn her head – but there was nothing. It was just a blank wall.

However, the creeping dread didn’t dissipate with the stillness, it only worsened the more she stared at the nothingness behind her.

“You never were good at the quiet.” One of the voices said, reverberating off the bathroom tiles.

Clarke dropped her eyes back down to her hands and started peeling back the bandages over her left one. If she was going to be talking to herself in the bathroom, she may as well clean her wound while she was there.

“Not going to answer?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t think it warranted one. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Were you expecting a response?”

“Cute.” The voice said harshly.

She only shrugged again, tossing the bandage into the small wastebasket and turning on the tap. The cut on her hand was oozing black blood, and when she moved it beneath the water it throbbed, making her wince.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Clarke?” The voice asked.

She wracked her brains, using the pain to focus. “Uh, Jordan. Jordan was here, and I… I think I passed out. Where is he?”

“Not here.”

“I can see that. Why am I still here? I figured Jordan would have grabbed some help by now, but that was,” she checked her watch, “hours ago. Did he just leave me alone in my room, unconscious?”

“No.”

“So then what…”

Clarke trailed off.

A hand had snaked out and clasped her own, tugging it from beneath the water. They started wrapping a clean strip of cloth around her palm, being careful not to bump her injury, and Clarke watched, completely enraptured, as they finished bandaging it, tucking the stray piece under the rest.

She was petrified.

Because she knew what she was going to see when she looked up.

She did it anyway.

Her eyes moved of their own accord and stared right into her own face.

Piercing blue sky into stormy seas.

The other her only smiled. “Surprised to see me?”

She realised with a jolt why she had felt so uneasy – because the voice she was so used to hearing in her head shouldn’t have an echo in the bathroom. Because the voice she expected to hear in her head was coming from right in front of her.

_From **herself.**_

“How…?”

“Aw, c’mon Clarke. Like I said before, you’re smart, you should be able to figure this out.”

“But I…” She swallowed. “This isn’t possible.”

“Actually,” a second voice said, the one Clarke had always found the most familiar but had never been able to place. When she swung her head around, she saw herself standing in the corner, but she looked different. While the one in front of her looked almost identical but for the slight darkness in her eyes and the set of her jaw, this one had long blonde hair and her features were more morose. She smiled sadly, tugging at her blue jacket. “It’s very possible.”

“No, that’s–”

“–You.” A third voice said. “As am I.”

Clarke whirled, to see herself standing in the other corner, red hair dyed and hanging almost in dreadlocks around her face. She was wearing grounder clothes, and spinning a knife between her fingers.

“What is this?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Some kind of hallucination? Is it a dream? Am I dying?”

They answered her questions one by one.

“No.”

“No.”

“Not yet.”

She turned back to the mirror so that she could see all of them without turning her head. They stared back, stoic but for the one holding her hand, the one who looked the most like her.

“What are you all?”

“We’re you.” The redhead spoke first, “We’re the broken pieces of who you are, Clarke.”

“Chipped off, one by one, with each horrible thing you did.” The long-haired one murmured.

The one holding her hand started digging her fingers into the wound over the bandage, pressing the coarse fabric directly into the cut. Clarke hissed and tried to flinch back, but she moved with her, predicting it.

“You know what we are, Clarke.” She said menacingly, walking her backwards until she was pressed against the tiles with three versions of herself staring manically back at her. Nails pushed further into her palm and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. “You know what _you_ are.”

“No, please,” she whimpered.

“We’re you, Clarke.”

“We know you better than you know yourself.”

“Because we’re not afraid to look at the terrible things you’ve done with open eyes.”

“While you run away from everything.”

“I never thought I’d become a coward,” the long-haired blonde murmured.

“I always knew.” The one gripping her hand snarled. She grabbed Clarke’s head and slammed it back against the wall.

The blow sent waves of agony rocketing around her skull, and Clarke slid to the floor, still feeling those unforgiving fingers around her own. When she blinked up at them, her vision swam for a moment, making them wobble and sway, and when it steadied, the other two were gone.

It was only her; the one who looked how she saw herself now.

The one trying to hurt her.

“Oh Clarke, don’t be ridiculous.” She smiled. “We’re _all_ trying to hurt you. I’m just having a little fun.”

“What do you want from me?” She managed, despite the haziness taking up residence in her brain and the blood tricking down the back of her neck.

“I want you to admit who you are, Clarke.” She smirked. “And then I want you to die alone, slowly and painfully, with the knowledge that your friends hated you before they died.”

“Why? Why are you doing this, I don’t understand,” she begged.

The stormy-eyed woman leaned closer, so close their faces were almost touching. “It’s what you deserve.”

There was a loud knock at the door of the apartment, and then the unmistakable sound of the door being kicked in. Voices were yelling, spreading out, searching for something. Searching for her?

Clarke felt her eyes droop shut for just a moment and then there were hands on her face and someone was calling her name frantically.

“Clarke? Clarke, god, please open your eyes,” Bellamy said, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to see herself staring down like the spirit of death itself. She just wanted to slip away. Bellamy was shouting at someone, but she didn’t think it was her.

She drifted into the darkness for a moment before she regained consciousness, and when she did, she was being carried. A familiar set of strong arms was underneath her, holding her close. In her half-deranged state, she started struggling, trying to get away from him, but he just held tighter.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s _okay,_ Clarke, we’re taking you to medical, you’re gonna be fine.”

He didn’t understand that she was trying to get away from _him,_ that the only way she could think of keeping him safe was to get as far away from him as possible. Because if she stayed close, he was only going to get hurt. The hallucinations – if that’s what they were – had promised her that much.

“No, Bellamy, I can’t–” She tried, and he stopped moving completely.

She had a feeling he was looking down at her with those worried brown eyes she loved more than anything in the world, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her own.

“Clarke, who did this to you?” He asked. “Who hurt you?”

But she couldn’t answer; unconsciousness was beckoning once more.

 

* * *

 

 _Don't wanna talk about it_  
_I was so wrong about it_  
_Can't do a thing about it now_

 _'Cause they say if you love her let her go_  
_And they say if it’s meant to be you’ll know_

 _I met a superhero_  
_I lost her_  
_I want her back_  
**Superhero – Lauv**

 

 

 

 

 

Bellamy had been intending to gather his friends once more, to work out a strategy so that they could approach Clarke together, but thing hadn’t exactly panned out like that.

He should have expected as much: he couldn’t remember the last time anything had gone to plan.

Instead of calling a meeting, he’d been on his way to get dinner first when Jordan had sprinted through the dining hall, looking furtively around at all the sitting people. Bellamy held his hands up, pushing against the kid’s chest to stop him from barrelling someone over in his distraction.

“Whoa, slow down–”

“–Where’s Jackson?”

Bellamy blinked, taken aback. “Uh, I don’t know. What’s wrong?”

“We need to find him, or Abby, or someone – Clarke needs a doctor.”

Bellamy dropped his hands. “Where is she?”

“She passed out Bellamy, I don’t think she’s been eating, and then she was talking and she just crumpled to the floor.”

“Where _is_ she,” he gritted out.

Jordan hesitated. “It’s… she told me not to tell you.”

If Bellamy had a counter for the number of times he thought Jordan would be able to surprise him in a conversation, he would have set it at their first meeting, but at this rate, this conversation was pulling up to be a close second.

“What?” He asked, as calmly as he could manage while his brain just screamed, _Clarke in danger, Clarke in danger, Clarke in danger,_ ceaselessly at him.

“The last thing she said before she passed out was, ‘don’t tell Bellamy’.” He said nervously, like he was scared of Bellamy’s reaction.

Bellamy didn’t blame him. “I don’t care, Jordan, she’s hurt, she needs help, _where the hell is she?!”_

“Her apartment.”

“Go get a doctor,” he snapped, right before he dashed from the room, not even looking back to check if Jordan was following his instructions.

When he got to Clarke’s door it was closed, which wasn’t unusual, but it was locked, which definitely was.

“Clarke?!” He rapped his knuckles on the door. “You in there?!”

Nothing.

He slammed his fist down harder against the wood, making it shake.

“CLARKE?!”

Jordan, and Emori came into view. Jordan frowned at him, confused. “Jackson’s grabbing a gurney, why haven’t you gone in yet?”

“Because the door’s locked,” Bellamy growled.

“What, no it isn’t,” Jordan said, reaching out and yanking the handle, only to come to the same conclusion. “Wait, but. That doesn’t make sense.”

“You think?”

“I can pick the lock,” Emori suggested.

Bellamy took a step back and the kicked the door with as much force as he could muster. The lock splintered and the door fell half off its hinges, dangling aimlessly.

“Or that.” She nodded, following him into the room.

They split up, calling her name as they hunted through the apartment for her, but it was Bellamy who opened the bathroom door.

It was Bellamy who saw her, body twisted on the floor the way Doctor Shore’s had been, black blood oozing from somewhere on her head and gushing down her arm.

It was Bellamy who dropped to his knees before her, scooping her into his arms and lifting her face into the light, begging her to open her eyes, to say something, _anything._

It was Bellamy who felt her pulse fluttering weakly beneath his fingertips.

Emori ran in first.

“Oh my god.”

She clapped both her hands over her mouth, just as Jordan stumbled into her.

“We need to get her to Jackson,” Jordan said, his voice surprisingly level but for the tremor in his voice betraying the panic he felt underneath.

Bellamy lifted her carefully and Emori grabbed a clean towel from the cupboard, pressing it against the back of Clarke’s neck, trying to work out where the blood was coming from. She rolled up the towel and used it to prop up Clarke’s head on Bellamy’s shoulder while they jogged as fast as they could towards the medical wing of the castle.

They were halfway there when Clarke seemed to stir, and he pressed his cheek against the top of her head, murmuring, “It’s okay. It’s okay, Clarke, we’re taking you to medical, you’re gonna be fine.”

She started struggling harder and he slowed down so that he could keep his grip on her, shooting Jordan a look. He didn’t need to be told, he just took off running in search of the gurney that still hadn’t turned up.

“No, Bellamy, I can’t–” She mumbled incoherently, and he stopped moving completely.

He stared down at her, just holding her, wanting her to know that she was safe, and he could see the anguish between her brows, the pain she’d been carrying on her own for god knows how long. He wondered when they’d stopped shouldering the burden together. He wondered how long she’d felt so alone.

“Clarke, who did this to you?” He asked, eyes tracking the blood trickling from her hand. “Who hurt you?”

She went limp against him and he didn’t even have a chance to start running again before Jordan and Jackson were rounding the corner, wheeling a bed between them.

He placed her down on it.

“What happened?” Jackson asked as they picked up their pace; easier to move now that Bellamy wasn’t carrying her.

“I don’t know,” he wanted to scrub his hands through his hair, but they were covered in her blood. “Jordan said she passed out, but when we got there, the door was locked and she was on the floor of the bathroom, bleeding out. Someone was in there with her, torturing her.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“Just her.” He felt the panic like a lump in his throat, constricting his airways. “I wasn’t looking for anyone else I… just her.”

Bellamy was so out of his mind with worry that he didn’t even notice they’d reached their destination until Miller grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

“Hey, HEY!” He shook him again. “She’s going to be fine. Jackson says the injuries aren’t that severe, but that she’s pretty malnourished as well, so it might take longer than it usually would. A couple of days, max. If she’d been eating normally, she’d be back on her feet in less than a day.”

“She’s going to be okay?” Emori asked anxiously, when Bellamy couldn’t find the words.

“Yeah.” Miller emphasised for them. _“Fine._ No-one’s going to do her any favours by freaking out, so I suggest going back to your quarters and waiting for–”

“–I’m not leaving.” Bellamy said.

Miller shrugged, like he’d been expecting that answer. “That’s okay, but you need to sit out in the waiting room. Jackson needs to stitch up her hand and fix her head.”

“Okay,” Emori said, more to herself than anyone else. She reached out for Bellamy’s hand and tugged him back towards the public area. “Okay. Okay.”

She sat down on one of the comfortable looking seats by the door and wrung her hands. Bellamy ignored the chairs and just sat down on the floor, bringing his knees up and resting his forearms over them, staring at nothing while his brain whispered only the worst possible outcomes.

Jordan followed them in silence, and Miller came out too, closing the door on Jackson and Clarke.

“What do you think happened?”

“Maybe someone else figured out what we did – that she had something to do with the doctor’s death – and they attacked her for it?” Miller suggested, gentle.

Jordan shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. If one of the Janusians figured it out, more of them would know. They would be down here.”

The rest of them hummed their agreement but none of them had any other theories to offer, so they just continued sitting in silence.

Raven, Shaw, Echo and Murphy all turned up at some point, presumably summoned by Miller or Emori, and Murphy came to sit down next to him. For once, he didn’t speak, he just reached over and held his arm, offering support the only way he knew how. Bellamy just sat there, unmoving.

After what felt like days, but was probably only a few hours, Jackson emerged.

Before any of them had a chance to speak, he held up a hand. “She’s fine, she’s awake, she doesn’t want to see any of you.”

“What?” Jordan protested. “But we’re worried, we wanna talk to her, we…”

When he trailed off, Jackson sighed.

“Listen, I can probably convince her to talk to you tomorrow, but she’s feeling weak right now. When she falls asleep, I’ll let you in and you can stay with her, okay? I know better than to tell any of you to go home. But she doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now; she can barely even formulate a sentence.”

“Thanks.” Shaw offered.

Then, because if one thing was going to go wrong, everything had to follow, Russell and a group of armed men stormed into the waiting room. Bellamy appraised them.

“What is it?” He asked, already too tired to deal with whatever it was.

Russell folded his arms. “Your sister has gone missing.”

Well, fuck.

 

* * *

 

 _Everything I do_  
_The way I wear my noose_  
_Like a necklace_  
_I wanna make 'em scared like I could be anywhere_  
_Like I'm wreck-less_

 _I lost my mind_  
_I don't mind_  
_Where's my mind_  
_Where's my mind_  
**Bellyache – Billie Eilish**

 

 

 

 

 

Wanheda was pacing.

She was pacing up and down the small dungeon Clarke had found herself in that morning, occasionally stopping to glance at the corner in anticipation.

She knew she shouldn’t have gone so far earlier.

She knew it was dangerous to injure Clarke in the moment, right when her plan was going into effect, but it had just been so tempting.

The girl had been right in her grasp, scared and small and so very human.

So easy to extinguish.

It had only been the door crashing open that reminded her to pull back. Without that, she might have killed her early.

“We can’t have that.” She murmured to herself.

The other two were there as well – trapped inside her, where they belonged.

She still hadn’t worked out why there were three of them, why it wasn’t just her. She knew she was the strongest, the one in control, the one with all the power, but she didn’t know why the others were there with her.

All they ever seemed to do was talk.

 _“Without us, you would never have fixed the problem.”_ One of them retorted to her unvoiced thought. She didn’t bother trying to work out which one.

_“We’re what makes you powerful.”_

_“I’m_ what makes me powerful.” She hissed.

The dark shape in the corner of the room made a noise that sounded an awful lot like a laugh.

Wanheda stormed forward, yanking at the chains until the girl fell into the light.

There was a gag in Octavia’s mouth and her hands were bound tightly behind her back. Her face was pressed into the concrete, and yet still… she laughed.

“What?” Wanheda ripped the gag from her mouth. “What’s so funny?”

It was a testament to her intelligence that Octavia didn’t even bother screaming. She must have known that she would never let her speak if she thought anyone would hear. The girl just looked up at her with mirth in her eyes.

“You, talking to yourself.” She coughed. “And they call _me_ the crazy one.”

Wanheda backhanded her, hard enough to draw blood, and Octavia spat it onto the floor, grinning widely.

“I might have snapped in the bunker, but you’ve gone insane in peacetime.” There was blood on her teeth. “It’s funny.”

Wanheda quirked her lips up, returning the gag to Octavia’s mouth. “You’re right. It is funny. You know what else is funny?”

She moved towards the door.

“No-one will ever know what happened to you.”

Terror overtook Octavia's face just as Wanheda disappeared, the lock latching silently behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, listen, I know this is not the first fic of mine to end a chapter with Clarke in the hospital, but unlike STDOF, the fact that she's in hospital isn't the important part, it's the fact that she hasn't had a chance to talk to Bellamy. (Whereas in STDOF, the entire fic is basically about why she ended up there and how everyone deals with it) 
> 
> This is different, and has entirely different connotations for the story and the characters.
> 
> Also, I'm a hoe for Panicked Bellamy And Injured Clarke™, what can I say?
> 
> WHAT DO YOU THINK?!?!?!
> 
> Are any of your theories correct so far?? Why do you think there are three of them?? What's going to happen to Octavia?? Please tell me your thoughts, I wanna know!! (Plus the comments stave off the Wanheda voices, so)
> 
> CHAPTER 3 IS GOING TO BE A LITTLE *DIFFERENT* TO THE PREVIOUS TWO AND THE LAST TWO, BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE INTERESTING, SO HOPEFULLY YOU'LL ENJOY THAT AS MUCH AS YOU HAVE THE REST OF THIS STORY SO FAR!!
> 
>  **OH AND DON'T FORGET: I'VE ADDED TWO CHAPTER TO THIS STORY, SO THERE'S NOW FIVE PARTS.** don't look at me
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL <3


	3. Count My Cards, Watch Them Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanheda wakes up on the new planet and immediately wants to set the world on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, firstly: I HAVE NOT SEEN ANY OF THE SPOILERS.
> 
> I have watched the trailer, but I refuse to watch the content that was unfairly leaked by people who had no business screwing with the hard work and dedication everyone put into the show. I have tried to avoid any hint of spoilers, which is unfortunately impossible when you have an internet connection, but I am, in Clarke's words, doing the best I can. So anything in this fic that happens to differentiate from or align with anything in those spoilers is purely coincidental and I would please politely ask that you don't spoil anything for me in the comments - I LOVE reading your comments, and I don't believe any of you _would_ deliberately spoil things for me, but this is just a precaution. 
> 
> SECONDLY: **THIS CHAPTER IS A LITTLE DIFFERENT.**  
>  There are no Bellarke alternating perspectives: this is just Dark!Clarke, all the way through.  
> There are time jumps within it, and perspective shifts between Clarke, Wanheda, and the other two Dark!Clarke's, but it is almost entirely just Wanheda's POV all the way through.  
> I hope it clarifies a lot of the information I've deliberately withheld from the first two chapters.  
> Also, it was hard to write at points, but was incredibly fun in others. Do with that information what you will.
> 
> I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!

 

 

_Bite my tongue, bide my time_  
_Wearing a warning sign_  
_Wait 'til the world is mine_  
_Visions I vandalize_  
_Cold in my kingdom size_  
_Fell for these ocean eyes_  

_You should see me in a crown_  
_Your silence is my favorite sound_  
_Watch me make 'em bow_  
_One by one_

_Count my cards, watch them fall_  
_Blood on a marble wall_  
_I like the way they all scream_  
_Tell me which one is worse_  
_Living or dying first_  
_Sleeping inside a hearse_  
_I don't dream  
_**you should see me in a crown - Billie Eilish**

 

 

 

Wanheda might have been but a pale echo of Clarke at some point or another, way back when she first woke, eyes blinking into the wide black expanse: The Nothing.

Not anymore.

Now she was so much better. As Clarke waned, she waxed, and now she was stronger than her, maybe stronger than she’d ever been.

Wanheda was going to set the world on fire and watch it burn.

And she was going to take everyone with her.

They wanted a bad guy? She was going to give them one.

 

* * *

 

 _If I keep moving, they won't know_  
_I'll morph to someone else_  
_What they throw at me's too slow_  
_I'll morph to someone else_  
_I'm just a ghost_  
**Morph – 21 Pilots**

 

 

 

** Two Months Ago: **

First, there was The Nothing.

Then, the memories came.

Jake Griffin died silently while Clarke screamed, but she may has well have been mute because without her father the world didn’t make sense and she didn’t want to live in it anymore.

_Her heart crumbled._

She was stuck in solitary for a year, living it over and over and over and always blaming herself, long before she blamed Wells. It was her own fault for telling him. She should have known better, done _more._ The quiet held only pain.

_Her heart held._

She killed a boy, stuck a knife in his neck and watched him die, humming softly to make it easier. For which of them, she was never quite sure.

_Yet her heart held._

Her best friend died, was cut up in the forest and left to rot, all alone, just a few feet from where she slept. He died cold and lonely with no-one there to hold him. He died in the silence.

_Her heart cracked a little more._

Finn had a girlfriend in space, and even though Clarke didn’t know if she loved him yet, her heart still ached because he lied to her. She liked him because he made her feel safe, but suddenly she felt like she didn’t have anywhere to plant her feet and the world was tilting under her.

_But her heart held._

She killed grounders - slit their throats, set them aflame, shot them – and she justified it to herself because she was just trying to keep everybody safe, but then they had to close the Dropship door on Finn and Bellamy and she wasn’t so sure anymore. Because a small part of her wanted to risk everything and everyone just to save them. Two lives for everyone else. Then they were gone and she woke up in a mountain filled with her friends and chocolate cake, and she’d never felt more like she’d lost.

_She bound her heart together with steel and willed it not to fall apart._

She murdered Finn, slipping a knife between his ribs to save him from endless torture and a painful death, and in his last breath he thanked her, let his head drop onto her shoulder like he used to. There was blood on her hands and for the first time it felt like the blood would stain forever, no matter how much she tried to scrub it away.

_A piece of her heart fell away._

**_Gone._ **

She found herself thinking that she deserved it. She lost a part of herself and she would never get it back, and now she would have to live with that forever. She could still feel Finn’s pulse slowing against the hand she pushed the knife in with.

_**Gone.** _

_But still, the remains held._

Lexa told her love was weakness and she tried to bind her heart in that instead; holding herself together with the words of the woman who would end up ignoring them herself. She pulled away from her friends, told Bellamy he was worth the risk, all whilst the remains of her heart screamed out for her to stop. Instead, she turned to the silence and prayed for it to drown out the cries.

When Lexa convinced her to drop a bomb on a city, she told herself it was for the good of everybody, but her heart whispered that she did it for _him,_ for Bellamy, and she took Lexa’s words and bound it with them again and again; trying to shut it up.

Then, Mount Weather happened.

And Bellamy told her they would do it together, but it was Clarke who got them into that situation, Clarke who pushed them into that corner, Clarke who was responsible for the deaths of every innocent person in that goddamn mountain. He told her they were both to blame, but she couldn’t hear him over the deafening silence of all the words those people would never get to speak and the lives she snuffed out before they could be lived.

_And another piece of her heart fell away._

**_Gone._ **

She walked away.

She was holding half a heart in her hands. Bellamy was grasping the piece she left behind, and the other was buried with Finn, but she was still desperately clinging to the broken parts she had left.

_She held the remains together with shaking fingers._

Then Bellamy found her and Roan stabbed him. She reminded herself that those pieces of her heart were like poison, that she’d killed Finn with one of them, and all she wanted was for him to be safe. So when she saw him again, she tried to turn her back, tried to snatch her broken heart from his palm as he left, but somehow he refused to relinquish it. Even when he hated her, he wouldn’t give that piece of her back.

Maybe he couldn’t.

_Maybe she didn’t really want him to._

Bellamy yelled at her that she left him and she wanted to scream back that she had to, that she was too broken to stay by his side without killing them both, but instead she yelled back that she needed him, and perhaps that was close enough.

_He handcuffed her and walked away, and her heart crumbled once more._

Lexa died in her arms and it was her fault, she knew it was. She shouldn’t have stayed so long, shouldn’t have gotten attached, shouldn’t have run when Titus pulled a gun on her. Maybe if she had been the one to die, the world would have been better off. She spoke the Traveller’s Blessing into the silence and kissed cold lips and she knew then more than ever that she couldn’t be the Commander of Death. Because the commander would have been able to stop this.

_Her heart folded in on itself and she lifted her chin against the pain._

Raven said thank you before she tore her apart, and that was the worst part, because Clarke’s defences were down. She hadn’t been expecting the thanks for tending to her friend’s wounds, and when it came, it gave her hope. She should have known better.

“Everywhere you go death follows. You always want to save everyone. But what you don’t realise is that _you’re_ the one we need saving _from._ Wells is dead because you couldn’t see Charlotte was a basket case. Finn is dead because you broke his heart and then slid a knife into it. Hell, I bet you got Lexa killed too. And then there’s dear old dad… your mom’s in here with me Clarke. She tells me you tried to convince him not to go public about the fact the Ark was dying; guess you should’ve tried harder! His blood is on your hands too. You can hide behind the selfless martyr act, but we see you for what you _really_ are: _poison_ to anyone who gets close.”

And that was the truth, wasn’t it? The thing she’d been running from for so long. That she didn’t deserve happiness, not when she ruined everything and killed so many.

_That time, her heart was held together by Bellamy as he dragged her out of there; she was too weak to do it herself._

Her friends were running out of air while Emerson made her watch and her lungs weren’t taking in enough either because they were _dying_ and it was _her fault._

So she put the flame in his neck and killed him and the guilt she felt was that she wished she’d done it sooner. If she had, he wouldn’t have been alive long enough to kill Sinclair or choke her friends to death. Yet another thing she could only blame herself for.

_Her heart was heavy under the weight of all she’d done._

“Start with Bellamy Blake.”

Those words cut to her core faster than any blade could; she felt it, felt him dying before it had even happened, and it _hurt_. It hurt more than anything, because she knew she would never survive if he died. Not just because he was the strongest man she knew, but because her heart would collapse in on itself. She had lost far too much already, and losing him would end her. If they brought in Bellamy, she would break. She would tell them everything and she knew it.

_Her heart clenched._

She wrote Bellamy’s name on the list. There was one space left, and she didn’t want to fill it, but if she didn’t, she was essentially signing her own death warrant. Perhaps that’s what she should do. Maybe, genetics be damned, Harper should be on the list instead of her.

But then Bellamy was there, writing her own name in for her, and she was crying and reaching out to him. He was keeping her together, even if he didn’t know it.

“We still breathing?”

_Her heart thrummed on._

An innocent man died for Emori’s lies – another aimless death on Clarke’s conscience – and still Clarke couldn’t make herself inject her with the nightblood. Not when Murphy was crying and she knew there was another solution. So she bore it herself.

_Her heart held._

She was the only thing standing between the human race and extinction, Clarke Griffin and her gun, pointed right at Bellamy Blake. The worst part was that it was an easy choice. Her arm dropped and tears fell, because despite what Bellamy said, she knew it wouldn’t take a killshot to stop him; all she needed to do was wound him enough to keep him there and she couldn’t even do that.

She couldn’t hurt another person that she loved.

_Her heart crumbled once more._

“I’ve got you for that.”

Those words rang in her ears as she kicked the dish into alignment, as she watched the rocket blast into the burning sky, as she ran back towards the lab, as the deathwave boiled every inch of her skin.

‘I’ve got you for that.”

She wondered if he knew how literal that statement was; if he was even aware that he was still holding that fragment of her heart in his hands because it didn’t fit in her chest with all the guilt and pain.

“I’ve got you for that.”

She slipped into unconsciousness with those words in her ears and the feeling of his fingers on her temple where he’d brushed the hair back from her eyes.

“I’ve got you for that.”

_Her heart burned with the planet and she wondered if death would be easier._

Saying goodbye to Madi was the hardest thing she’d had to do in six years. All she wanted to do was stay with her, protect her, however she knew the child’s chances were better if she hid alone, so she had to leave. She told Madi she loved her and then she ran, drawing the Eligius men out. They captured her and she didn’t care because Madi was safe.

_Her heart held on._

Bellamy had returned, that broken piece of her heart nestled in his chest – right next to his own – and for the briefest of moments she thought that maybe she could put herself together again.

Then he kissed Echo and Clarke realised that he only put her heart in his chest so his hands were free to hold someone else’s.

He hadn’t even told her. When she asked him about the Ring, he never once mentioned falling in love with someone he used to hate. She wondered why it was easier for him to love Echo than to love her back. She tore her eyes from the sight of them wrapped around each other and tried not to think about why it hurt so much.

_Her heart tightened once more._

Bellamy turned his back on her while she strained against the shackles, screaming for him to stop. She begged him not to do what she knew he was planning, pleaded with him to leave Madi out of this war. Still, he left, closing the door firmly behind him, and her worst nightmares were made real by the man she had once called her best friend. The silence he left behind threatened to swallow her whole.

_Her heart pounded in her ears._

It was still pounding when they found them. They were too late; it was done. Bellamy looked guilty, but it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, not after he took that piece of her heart and crushed it, discarding the remains.

There were no words either of them could say anymore.

The silence was deafening.

_Oxymoron._

She slapped him and she hated herself for it.

She took Madi and ran, and when Madi asked why they weren’t going back for him, she didn’t even have an answer anymore. Bellamy had walked away. He left. Like they always did. Now Madi had the flame and she didn’t need her either. She would leave too, like the rest.

She left Bellamy to his death.

_And another piece of her heart fell away._

**_Gone._ **

_All she had left was one tiny, feeble piece, and she coated it in liquid gold and sealed it shut._

When she found her mother, it was an easy decision to do what it took to save her, even if that meant helping McCreary’s men.

When she pressed the button and the collar around Madi’s neck buzzed with painful electricity, it hurt but it couldn’t break her anymore. Nothing could.

When Raven attempted to kidnap Madi, Clarke wasn’t even surprised to see her friend so angry. She just accepted it.

When Echo told her Bellamy wasn’t dead, her heart fluttered. One final attempt to remind her who she used to be.

Then Monty and Harper died.

Everyone else on the ship looked at her like they wished it had been her and she couldn’t even blame them. She wished it too.

_Yet her heart still held on._

_She didn’t know why, but it kept beating, despite all odds._

When they arrived on Sanctum and made their way to the Capitol, Janus, they were told they’d have to be evaluated properly before they were allowed in. Bellamy had offered to go first, and when Clarke volunteered to be next, the others pushed her back.

“You don’t get to put yourself first this time.” They spat the words at her and she let them.

Raven, Shaw, Murphy, Emori, Abby, Echo, Jordan and even Miller and Jackson went before she did, and she watched them all enter Doctor Shore’s office with trepidation. She wanted this world to be a good one, but she was scared for them, all of them. If this planet was too good to be true, they might start by getting everyone alone.

Then she was allowed in the room and told to sit in the large machine – BATES, he called it – and it hummed in a way that made her more than a little uncomfortable. But the doctor was kind and his voice was soft and he asked her questions about herself; something which no-one had tried to do in a very long time.

Clarke answered them measuredly.

BATES hummed.

And then… there was a blip.

A tiny, insignificant blip in the readings, one which lasted less than a tenth of a second.

Just a blip.

A blip in which everyone else’s thoughts on Clarke poured themselves into her mind; every feeling every single person who sat in the machine before her had associated with her name.

All the hatred and resentment and distrust and anger and wishes that she was dead.

Their beliefs about who she was.

Every vicious, soulless thing she’d ever done.

All of it, in one tiny little blip that the Doctor didn’t even register.

And in that infinitesimal blip, Wanheda was born.

She sat up, somewhere in the dark recesses of Clarke’s mind, and looked around herself, at the darkness and The Nothing. If she strained hard enough, she could hear someone’s voice, answering questions while something hummed.

Wanheda’s heart wasn’t like Clarke’s. It was forged from the final piece Clarke had dropped when she left Bellamy behind in the fighting pits. It was forged of fire and blood and pain and never-ending silence and it beat only so that it could tear the world apart.

Her heart couldn’t be touched by love or loss.

She was the Commander of Death and she lived only to burn.

First there was The Nothing.

Then the memories came.

 

* * *

 _Yeah, I bleed just like everyone_  
_But I feed off a different one_  
_I'm built all of broken bone_  
_I'm nothing to one_  
**Nothing To No One – Gin Wigmore**

 

 

 

 

She realised quickly that she wasn’t the only one.

The two other pieces of Clarke’s heart that had withered and died were trapped in there with her.

The one Finn died with was the weakest, the smallest piece, circling Clarke’s mind aimlessly.

The one she lost after Mount Weather, the one Bellamy threw away, was bigger; hardened and world-weary.

Neither of them held a candle to Wanheda.

They might have been called the name, but they didn’t deserve the title.

It didn’t take long for them to find their voices and start talking. They talked and plotted and watched Clarke fumble her way through life on Sanctum, like one eye was in The Nothing and the other could see through hers, to the world around them. They were trapped, but they could see their escape.

So they planned, tried to find a way out.

After a few days, they realised that they could influence Clarke’s dreams. That was the first time she heard them.

Finn’s Clarke was the first to realise that the weaker Clarke got, the stronger they did. It happened after she heard their voices outside of the dreams for the first time, when she could remember it. The only reason she had been able to hear them was because she hadn’t been sleeping and it had made her susceptible to their influence.

They pressed harder.

It didn’t take much for her to start losing time.

Took even less for her to stop eating.

Then, one day, nearly a month after they awoke, Wanheda opened her eyes to find that she was standing in Clarke’s room. The girl herself was unconscious before her, lying on the floor where she’d collapsed.

She wiggled her fingers in front of her face just to check she was real. Then, she reached for the handle of Clarke’s door and pulled.

Madi was sitting on the couch, “Took you long enough. I thought we were going to hang out tonight, before my meeting with the Janus Council?”

Wanheda tilted her head, about to answer, but she felt a tug in her chest, and behind her, Clarke was stirring.

“Just a minute.” She said, closing the door. Not a moment too soon, as it turned out, because the next time she blinked, she was back in The Nothing.

“What happened?” Finn’s Clarke asked.

“You vanished.” Mount Weather Clarke said.

They all felt Clarke get up and resume her walk to the living room, none the wiser but for the feeling that she’d drifted off.

Wanheda smiled. “I think it’s time for a little chaos.”

 

* * *

 

 _So look in the mirror_  
_and tell me, who do you see?_  
_Is it still you?_  
_or is it me?_

 _Become the beast_  
_We don't have to hide_  
_Do I terrify you_  
_Or do you feel alive?_  
**Become the Beast – Karliene**

 

 

 

 

They worked out pretty quickly that they needed Clarke alive but unconscious in order to stay in the world.

“Alive but weak,” Mount Weather Clarke hummed. “We can manage that.”

And they were; Clarke still hadn’t worked out they were real, and outside of the dreams she seemed to brush away their voices as her own internal monologue, which would honestly have been depressing if they didn’t already know how much she hated herself. Of course they knew; they were her.

Finn’s Clarke hated herself for killing the man she loved, for hurting people when she felt she had no other choice.

Mount Weather Clarke hated herself for what she did, hated herself more for walking away and leaving Bellamy behind because she didn’t feel like she deserved his forgiveness.

And Wanheda… Wanheda had been sitting in self-loathing for so long that it had twisted painfully into something destructive. She _despised_ herself and she hated everyone else along with her, and she was done with self-pity.

She was funnelling that fury into every moment she spent outside of Clarke’s head.

The first time she just poked the bear a little – when Raven made a snide remark as she passed her in the hall, Wanheda clapped back, calling her a “hypocritical bitch”. Raven didn’t take too kindly to that, but she was gone before Raven even formed a retort.

Of course, then Raven found even more occasions to drop comments or even elbow Clarke when she saw her, which only increased her self-loathing.

And Wanheda got stronger.

 

* * *

 

 _And God can't help me now_  
_Maybe I'm a psycho just like you said I was_  
_You got me right, but baby it's not my fault_  
_Oh and I know and I know and I know that I been acting so strange_  
_But you should know that you're the one who made me this way_  
**Psycho – Lauren Aquilina**

 

 

 

 

Mount Weather Clarke was silently relieved that Wanheda had taken charge. After everything she’d done, she didn’t want to make the hard choices anymore.

However, she wasn’t wholly unlike Wanheda; she had been the beginning of the title, after all. She had been the first to make a decision that killed innocents rather than attackers, or Finn. The first kill that wasn’t self-defence or mercy. It was a heavy burden to carry, but she managed to hold her head high all those months on her own, pretending to be someone else. One look at Bellamy’s expression when he stroked her hair back from her face while she was tied up, waiting for Roan to return, had destroyed all that.

Because she’d felt _hope_. A spark of something that told her she might get through this without breaking again, and that was worse than anything else. Because before there had been no hope to be crushed.

Hope was dangerous.

Hope was what got everyone around her killed.

She repeated Lexa’s words in her head long after Roan dragged her away from a bleeding Bellamy, and when she saw him again in Polis she repeated them so much she was surprised when they didn’t slip from her lips instead of the cold words she said to make him leave.

Mount Weather Clarke didn’t like that part of power, the part that meant everyone she loved had to stay away lest they be destroyed, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like the power itself.

So when Wanheda stormed into a spacekru meeting and started yelling, Mount Weather Clarke relished in the brief lick of power she felt.

“Honestly you should all be ashamed of yourselves.” She snapped, basking in their confused, irritated expressions. “Plotting and scheming behind closed doors, like this society was anything like what we were back on Earth.”

Raven bristled. “We have no proof they _aren’t._ They could be worse, for all we know.”

Wanheda took a step forward, tilting her head, calculating. “But you _don’t_ know. Because, funnily enough, none of you bothered to _ask.”_

Murphy was the one to pose the question she knew they all wanted the answer to. “Ask what?”

 _“Me.”_   Her eyes flashed. “I’ve scoped every inch of this castle. I’ve gone through every room, every corridor, every hallway. I know where every camera is, I know where the secret rooms they don’t want anyone to find are, I know which of their politicians are sleeping with each other. Unfortunately, you’re all so busy pretending that I don’t exist that you forgot to ask me what I know.”

“We don’t need your help, Wanheda,” Echo snapped, and Bellamy’s hands bunched into fists like he was pushing words he couldn’t say into his fingertips and digging them into his palms to keep them there.

Mount Weather Clarke’s laughter echoed in The Nothing because for the first time in her life, Echo was right about something and she didn’t even know it.

Wanheda only smiled coldly. “You’re right, you don’t. You can screw yourselves over without my help.’’

She turned to leave.

“Wait!” Bellamy said. She didn’t turn, but she stopped and he took that as a cue. “What do you know?”

She shrugged and resumed her walk towards the door. “You have nothing to worry about. They’re a peaceful society. It’s us that are the monsters.”

Mount Weather Clarke knew in her broken piece of heart that truer words had never been spoken.

 

* * *

 

 _Though I'm weak_  
_Beaten down_  
_I'll slip away_  
_Into the sound_  
_The ghost of you_  
_Is close to me_  
_I'm inside out_  
_You're underneath_  
**Goner – 21 Pilots**

 

 

 

 

 

Finn’s Clarke decided early on that she was the only one of the three of them who felt uneasy messing with Clarke’s life. She never brought it up – it wouldn’t change anything – so she just winced whenever Raven’s icy glare cut across the room and Clarke’s chest panged with that familiar internal hatred.

She was the closest to who Clarke used to be; the lost little girl who still missed her father and mourned the first boy she loved.

But through it all, she kept her head down. She might empathise with Clarke’s pain, but she still hated her. She always would.

Things escalated when Wanheda decided to go after Abby.

Finn’s Clarke still held that shard of hatred for her mother for killing her father and she relished in the rage Wanheda was spitting at her.

Abby was pressing herself against the wall while Wanheda leaned over her.

“I don’t care how much better you think you are now,” she hissed, “and I don’t care if you want to be in my life. You ruined my life when you killed my father and sent me to the ground to die, and I don’t need you anymore. Stay away from me. And especially stay away from my daughter.”

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Abby sniffled, “I’m so sorry, I–”

“Not good enough, Abby. Nothing you do will ever be good enough.” She snapped, and then she spun on her heel and stormed away down the corridor, just in time for Clarke to wake up.

Finn’s Clarke watched over the next few days as Abby pulled away, avoiding them in the halls, and she felt guilty for being complicit in something that was hurting both of them. Clarke didn’t even question it, she just quietly assumed her mother was finished with her the way everyone else was, and curled in on herself yet further.

Wanheda celebrated, while Finn’s Clarke watched a daughter mourn the loss of a mother who was still alive.

She wondered if it would always feel this way, or if the empathy would vanish with the strength they gained as Clarke became weaker, more isolated. She wanted to know if she was losing herself the way the other two were already lost.

Clarke woke up from another nightmare, screaming while she reached for something that didn’t exist.

Wanheda only laughed.

 

* * *

 _And the sickest little pleasures keep me going in between pulling teeth_  
**Leaders of the Free World - Elbow**

 

 

 

 

 

Wanheda was helping Jackson in the clinic.

She’d become good at mimicking Clarke now, so much so that most of the time, people barely blinked at her, not that they had been particularly observant towards her before.

They had been working together for a few hours and it was the longest she’d been free of the shackles of The Nothing. She was getting stronger.

A little boy was rushed in, shin fractured from falling out of a tree, and Jackson trusted Clarke to take care of him herself, tending to someone else at the other end of the clinic. Too bad Clarke wasn’t around.

Wanheda started on putting the boy’s leg in a cast and while he sat there and waited for it to set, she knelt down at his eye level and raised an eyebrow.

“You should be more careful, kid.”

“I was playing with the others and the branch snapped.” He said noncommittally, like it was nothing.

She curled a hand around his wrist, making sure she had his full attention. “You only fractured your leg; you were lucky. There are hundreds of other ways you could have been hurt, or worse. If you’d turned just a little before you landed, you could have broken your back. You could have cracked a rib and punctured a lung. You could have snapped your neck or broken your arm and bled out internally. If you slipped head-first, you would have died on impact. Even if you hadn’t, do you know how many head injuries can cause damage in the future? How many people die of mystery blood clots from injuries they received years earlier? You could die one day and no-one would ever know why. All because you fell out of a tree. Is that what you want, kid?”

Her voice was quiet, menacing, and the fear in his eyes was palpable. He shook his head frantically, words failing him.

She stood up. “Good. Now go.”

He scrambled down from the chair and escaped the room as fast as his crutches would take him.

She felt a small smile playing about her lips, but when she turned around, Jackson was staring at her with a vaguely disturbed look on his face.

“He’s just a kid, Clarke. You don’t need to scare him like that.”

“He has to learn someday. Better he hears it from me than just turning up dead one day, wouldn’t you agree?” She tilted her head at him and he blinked a few times, unsure. She shrugged. “I have to get back. You can manage now, right?”

Wanheda didn’t even wait for his answer before she left.

 

* * *

 

 _I'm back, back from the dead but I'm pure consciousness_  
_I feel more alive than I have in years, I'm feeling kind of bad_

 _I'll be the last damn one to cave in_  
_I might be wrong but it just feels right_  
_Is making my heart race how I like_  
_You want the truth, I refuse to let them escape me_

 _I’m feeling kinda bad_  
**_BAD - Drapht_ **

 

 

 

 

 

She was on her way to the hospital when she rounded the corner and walked directly into Bellamy.

It was the first time she’d really had the opportunity to be with him alone and she’d been hoping to save it for when it could be more impactful, but she could see the uncertainty in his eyes as his arm steadied her and she decided that now would be as good a time as any to plant the seeds of doubt.

“Sorry,” he said, eyes automatically raking her for injuries. The real Clarke would have been besotted by such a gesture, but it only made Wanheda want to roll her eyes.

Pathetic, the both of them.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t be – this was really the only chance we were gonna have to talk anyway, what with the way you’ve been avoiding me.”

The pained crease that pinched his brows made her angry and her anger made her stronger. She wanted to smile at his anguish as he fumbled for the right thing to say.

“I’m not–”

“No?” She asked, eyes locked onto his and refusing to let go, “When was the last time we spoke, Bellamy?”

He hesitated, looking away, “I…”

“You can’t remember.” She said triumphantly, disgust dripping from every word.

“Clarke, I,” he tried, and she wrenched her arm from his grip and made a point of pushing past him, shoulder-checking him as she did.

Wanheda didn’t glance back as she walked away, but she knew he was watching her as she spoke. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to have a little chat with someone. Go back to your precious family.”

She didn’t catch the way his face fell, but she knew it had.

It wasn’t long before she arrived at the ward she was looking for, knocking on the door and waiting patiently for an answer. She would really have to sell it this time.

“Hey Clarke.” Octavia opened the door and stood back to let her in. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” she took the seat next to the window, while Octavia sat down cross-legged on the bed. Wanheda smiled, as warmly as she could. “I thought we could talk.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She sounded dubious, but there was something like excitement creeping into her features. She was hoping she had a friend. “Did you finish those sketches?”

“I did. I’ll give you one, if you like. Might make the walls in here a little more interesting,” she joked.

They sat that way for an hour, talking about everything and nothing and all the little things in between, and when she was certain that Octavia was no longer suspicious of her intentions, she gestured at the window.

“How often are you allowed to leave?”

“I go out every afternoon, walk around the forest. I always feel most at home there, and Doctor Shore told me it’s good for me to be somewhere I feel comfortable. They used to send someone out with me, but I go on my own now. Shore thinks I’ll be fit to join polite society in a few weeks. I told him to give me another month,” she quipped, grinning.

Wanheda chuckled back, glancing through the windowpane to see the forest in the distance, children running through the fields before them, laughing and playing with no cares in the world. She didn’t remember what that was like. Something like a memory flickered in the back of her mind; Well’s voice echoing around The Nothing.

“Want to play chess?” She asked suddenly, not really knowing why.

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

She found a box in one of the other rooms and brought it back, setting up the board on the small table between them. Octavia picked the white pieces and moved her first pawn out one square, sitting back and waiting as Wanheda fiddled with one of the black knights, contemplative.

Octavia smirked, nudging the board forward. “Your move, Clarke.”

 

* * *

 

 _Oooh what possesses you_  
_When you're in a half light_  
_Oh it is not you I see_  
_And you'll live a half life_  
_You only show half to me_  
**Half Light – Banners**

 

 

 

 

 

That night, when she came home, Clarke was nowhere to be found.

 _“She passed out by the lake, remember?”_   Finn’s Clarke said.

 _“She went for a walk to clear her head.”_   The other one added, scoffing. _“Like she could.”_

The three of them smirked in tandem.

“Time to put this plan into effect then, don’t you think?” She asked.

 _“You’ll need another set of hands,”_ Mount Weather Clarke said, and then suddenly, she was standing in front of her in the bathroom, red hair blazing in the harsh light.

Wanheda made a face, touching a lock of it with her finger. “I’d forgotten how bad it was.”

“Hey,” she snapped, catching Wanheda’s wrist.

“Calm down,” she pulled her arm back, rolling her eyes. “You wanna help? Then help; find me somewhere I can plan in. We can’t leave things around here where Clarke could see.”

“She might just think she’s going crazy.”

“She already thinks that. If she sees that we’ve moved things in here or left plans behind, she’ll become suspicious that someone’s messing with her, and we can’t have that.”

“No we can’t.” Mount Weather Clarke nodded and yanked on a hoodie, tucking as much of her hair as she could into the fabric. “I have an idea. How long do you think we have?”

“I think we can make it another day before we have to wake her,” she shrugged, “but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

With that, the other woman left, and Wanheda sat down to sketch out everything she remembered about the layout of the castle and the city surrounding it. She knew that asking someone for actual blueprints would set off alarm bells, so she had to do it herself.

Like always.

If she wanted to frame Clarke for Doctor Shore’s death, she needed to do it right.

She had to divert suspicion from her first, make everyone thing it was someone else, and the first person on the list was also the one who’d foolishly decided to open up to Clarke.

Wanheda drew a path from the ward to the forest to the doctor’s office that avoided all the major cameras. When she was finished, she spent the afternoon timing how long it would take for someone to get there and back.

She drew and redrew the path until she found the right one, grinning to herself.

When that was done, she packed a bag full of supplies and blueprints and lists and plastered a softer look on her face for when Madi arrived home for lunch, playing the role of Clarke with ease. Madi barely noticed a difference, eyebrows only crinkling for a moment when she first arrived, and Wanheda had to remind herself not to smile too much. Real Clarke’s smile was more morose, more world-weary.

It was harder to perfect.

When Madi left, returning to Russell’s side for a council meeting, Wanheda hugged her the way Clarke would, and only felt a little empty when the child was gone.

Finn’s Clarke suddenly reappeared in her head and she realised she hadn’t even noticed her absence.

“Where the hell have you been?” She asked as she washed the dishes.

 _“She found it,”_ was the only answer she received, but Wanheda didn’t need more. She dropped the plate back into the water, grabbed the bag from where she’d hidden it and strode from the room.

She stopped at the armoury, picking the lock, and ducked in before anyone saw her. She hunted through the Wonkru weapons until she found the one she was looking for and slid it into her bag, ready to go.

Mount Weather Clarke found her in the corridor and led her down to a forgotten part of an old facility at the rear of the castle where an old door had been painted over to look like the wall.

“The walls are soundproof.” She explained as they entered, the dark enveloping them when the door swung closed. “We added a lock to the inside of this door and there’s plenty of room for anything else you might need.”

“Good job,” Wanheda smiled at her and she shrugged, waving a hand, before she disappeared.

Her voice was back inside Wanheda’s head. _“Is it time?”_

“Not quite,” she said aloud, running her fingers along the cold metal. “We need to wake Clarke first.”

She closed her eyes and when she opened them, she was back in The Nothing and Clarke was waking up on the side of a lake, panicking as she checked her watch and realised she’d lost almost two days.

She scrambled to her feet, slipping on the rocks as she made her way back towards civilization.

She smiled at Jordan from a distance when she passed the ship and he waved amiably at her, oblivious.

Clarke found her apartment and collapsed onto her mattress, trying to remember where she’d been, while the three broken pieces of her heart spun around her head, stronger than ever.

It wasn’t until she pushed herself up and walked to the bathroom that she even realised Madi had come home. The girl looked guilty, like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t, and Clarke just nodded sadly, because she knew her daughter had snuck him to grab her things before she stayed at Raven’s for the night. She’d been doing that more and more lately.

Clarke stared herself down in the mirror, trying to see past all the things she didn’t recognise, trying to reach the part of herself that she knew, not realising that her mind was full of monsters and that girl she used to know was long gone.

“I’m going to see Raven!”

Clarke slumped over the sink, energy all but spent on the simple act of looking herself in the eye. There was a lot to contend with when your eyes belonged to three other people.

“Okay. What time are you coming home?”

“I’m not sure; Raven’ll walk me back, I’ve got a key.”

“Okay.”

Clarke lifted her head again, meeting her own eyes in the mirror and trying to find any memory from the last two days. Wanheda didn’t say anything; they had agreed that it was Finn’s Clarke who had to throw a cat among the pigeons – she was the voice Clarke found familiar, so she was the voice Clarke would listen to first.

_“I told you, you’re going crazy.”_

“Shut up.” Clarke said, hand tightening over the sink.

_“Why? I don’t think you want me to. I know you think I’m right, Clarke.”_

“I don’t.”

 _“No?”_ Mount Weather Clarke asked, sarcastic. _“You actually think you’re doing okay?”_

Wanheda smirked into the The Nothing. _“You’re losing time, Clarke.”_

 _“Sane people don’t do that.”_   Mount Weather Clarke pointed out.

Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!” She swept a hand across the sink, knocking everything on it to the floor.

Wanheda laughed and Finn’s Clarke took the lead again.

_“You can’t stop what you can’t acknowledge, Clarke.”_

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She asked aloud, fear clouding her features in the mirror. Fear was just as much a weakness as love was and Wanheda wanted to burn it out of her.

Finn’s Clarke was still talking.  _“You have to start **listening** , Clarke.”_

She walked shakily from the bathroom and grabbed her jacket off the bed as she moved towards the door. “No, what I need is professional help.”

_“It’s not going to work.”_

_“There’s nothing that doctor can do to fix what you broke.”_   Wanheda said, pushing her further towards her decision.

“I don’t care,” she yanked the door open. “I have to try.”

 _“Good,”_   Wanheda muttered. _“Now we just have to keep her out of commission until Octavia goes on her walk.”_

_“Lucky we’ve got a place to put her then, huh?”_

Clarke passed out in the corridor and Wanheda flickered into existence beside her.

“Pity we didn’t invest in a rover,” she said, dragging the unconscious body across the floor.

 

* * *

 

 _This is the start of how it all ever ends_  
_They used to shout my name, now they whisper it_  
**Yellow Flicker Beat – Lorde**

 

 

 

 

 

She found Octavia in the forest, but this time she wasn’t there to butter her up. She was on a time crunch but she needed the woman to know exactly who to pin her downfall on if this plan was going to work.

So just as the girl turned around and recognised her, a smile growing on her face, Wanheda tilted her head.

“I just want you to know,” she said coldly, “that this is personal. This is _very_ personal.”

“Uh, what?” Octavia frowned, confused.

“You hurt people, Octavia. You killed people. You relished in their deaths, and I never did. I never enjoyed the lives I took, but I did it because I _had_ to, because no-one else was willing. And I still get blamed. People I used to call my friends still can’t even _look_ at me, but you get to come back to society and be normal again because a doctor diagnosed your crazy instead of labelling it as just another part of you.”

“Clarke, what’s going on?” She took a tentative step back.

Wanheda moved forward.

“You deserve everything you’re going to get, Octavia. You deserve to be _punished_ and I’m going to be the one holding the whip. Not everyone deserves a second chance, Blodreina.”

“And you think you do?” She snapped back, defiant.

Wanheda moved fast, slamming her against the nearest tree before she had a chance to react.

Her gun was in her hand before she even registered that she’d reached for it, and she pressed it against Octavia’s temple, eyes burning ice as she stared her down.

“None of us deserve it. We destroyed an entire world – none of us should walk away from that unscathed. We all played our part in the destruction of Earth and yours was bigger than anyone but McCreary’s and my own. We should have burned with the planet, but instead, we’re here. I intend to remedy that.” She tapped the gun against her head, watching as it made Octavia’s pulse jump. She only narrowed her eyes, “I’m starting with you.”

Then she turned on her heel and left without another word, waiting until she was out of Octavia’s line of site to disappear.

She opened her eyes in The Nothing but she didn’t intend to stay there long. She closed them, only opening them again when she reappeared in the real world. She was in the hidden room, Clarke’s unconscious body still in the corner, and she grabbed Octavia’s sword from where she’d placed it.

 _“You’ve got twenty minutes if you want this done right.”_   Mount Weather Clarke said. Wanheda was sure she was only imagining the resignation in her voice, shaking her head as she strode through the halls to find the corridor in front of Doctor Shore’s office. She made sure the cameras caught her on the way in.

He was sitting at his desk when she knocked, already opening the door before he answered.

“Oh, Clarke! Wonderful to see you.” He smiled up at her, and for the first time, Wanheda felt a twinge of guilt at what she was about to do. But one innocent life in exchange for the punishment of so many guilty ones; it was worth it. He got to his feet, ambling towards her, “I was actually thinking of visiting you myself, this afternoon. Your friend Bellamy – he really does care a lot about you, that man – he was concerned about you, so I thought I’d check in so I could assure him there’s nothing to worry about.”

Wanheda sighed, closing the door behind her.

“Actually, Doc, there’s a great deal to worry about.” She said, right before she slashed his throat.

Doctor Shore staggered backwards, surprise carved into his features as he collapsed.

She crouched down over him, head tilted as she watched the life draining from his eyes and the blood gush from his veins. The red was spreading, colouring the floor, and she liked the way it looked. It was familiar.

“Clarke… please…” He gurgled, and she allowed him to see the way her lips curved upwards at the plea.

“She’s not in here, Doc. She can’t hear you.” She snapped the tip of the sword off, throwing it under the desk where someone would see it later.

“Cl–”

He cut himself off with a moan of pain when the knife in her hand found its way under the wrinkled skin of his arm.

Then the other.

Then his chest.

Then his face.

As the man lay dying before her, she revelled in drawing every last bit of pain out of him that she could.

He deserved it, for letting any of them pass his arbitrary tests. They didn’t belong on this new world and he had let them all in. He wasn’t as innocent as she wanted him to be, and the more she hurt him, the easier it was to remember that.

They all deserved it.

She was going to make them all suffer.

She was the Commander of Death and she was finally taking control.

She waited until the doctor fell unconscious before she ran from the room, making sure the camera caught the flash of her hair as she rounded the corner. She concentrated as she ran and the next time she blinked, she was standing in the hidden room.

Well, _that_ was new.

She grabbed Clarke and dragged her out into the corridor before she disappeared into The Nothing.

Clarke woke up, disorientated and still under the impression that she was on her way to the doctor’s office for help. She stumbled down the corridor, still not quite herself, and she only came to her senses when she was standing over Doctor Shore’s body, red already soaking her fingers as she tried to staunch the flow of blood from his neck.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, horrified. She sprung to action, pressing down harder on the man’s throat and begging him to stay with her.

It didn’t matter what she did, it would never be enough; Wanheda had made sure of that.

Doctor Shore died under Clarke’s fingers and she sobbed into thin air, catching her breath when she heard the sound of something moving in the corridor.

She peeked out, only to find that it was Bellamy, looking more than a little alarmed, which only worsened when she sprinted towards him and collapsed into his arms.

There was blood on Clarke’s hands and Wanheda taunted her for it.

 

* * *

 

 _Call me calloused, call me cold_  
_You're italic, I'm in bold_  
_Call me cocky, watch your tone_  
_You better love me, 'cause you're just a clone_  
**COPYCAT – Billie Eilish**

 

 

 

 

 

She laid low for a while after that. Clarke needed to seem as if she was above suspicion from everyone but Bellamy.

That didn’t mean they stopped talking to her, oh no. If anything, they tortured her more now that they weren’t going anywhere. She was spiralling downwards and they were getting bored.

Every now and then, Wanheda would go out, to smooth things over or plant seeds of doubt in people’s heads, and whenever she did, she left Clarke locked up in the room behind the wall.

Kidnapping Octavia was easy.

She waited until seconds after Bellamy had finished his interrogation, and then she materialized in front of the door, slipping in and sedating her before she could say anything.

She grabbed a gurney and threw the woman onto it, walking it down the hallway with a sheet on top, so that anyone who glanced in her direction would only see a technician taking a body to the morgue.

When she arrived at the room behind the wall, Clarke was still lying there, unconscious, and she rolled her eyes as she lowered Octavia to the ground and shackled her, gagging her too, just in case the sedative didn’t last as long as she thought. She didn’t want anyone waking Clarke before things were in place.

Then she turned, grabbing a small knife and slicing it through Clarke’s palm.

It started bleeding immediately, black blood dripping through her fingers. She wrapped it up, typing it off, and made sure the door was locked, disappearing. She reappeared in the park where Clarke had left her sketchbook and made sure to leave it somewhere Clarke hadn’t been, just to mess with her.

She was on her way back when a weird kind of fog descended over her consciousness and she couldn’t reach Clarke’s mind anymore.

She frowned, faltering mid-step.

It lasted less than a second and when it cleared, she could hear Finn’s Clarke talking to Clarke, leading her out of the room and back to her apartment, keeping her distracted enough that she didn’t realise where she was coming from.

“What was that?” Wanheda asked into the air.

 _“Clarke is awake while you’re outside.”_   Finn’s Clarke realised. _“Oh my god._ ** _We can move around while she’s awake_** _.”_

 _“Good to know.”_   Mount Weather Clarke said, right before she appeared in front of Wanheda, grinning.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Wanheda growled. “You can do this later. We need to get back to The Nothing, _now_ , or this is all going to be a waste of time.”

With that, the two of them blinked out of existence.

 

* * *

 

 _You get what you deserve_  
_I'm your nightmare while you're fast asleep_  
_Wrong has never felt so right_  
_And revenge has never felt so sweet_  
_I will be your worst and darkest dream  
_ **Bad Things - Summer Kennedy**

 

 

 

 

 

When Jordan ran for help, Mount Weather Clarke dragged the unconscious Clarke into the bathroom while Wanheda locked the door.

Finn’s Clarke tampered with the time on her watch, to make her think she’d lost even more than she had, and then they woke her up.

She was standing in front of the mirror when she regained her senses and there was clearly still something blocking her, because she hadn’t realised they weren’t in her head anymore yet.

So Wanheda did the cruellest thing she could think of.

She reached out and held her hand.

Clarke froze.

Wanheda just pulled out a bandage and started wrapping it around the wound. Clarke finally turned her head, and she only smiled at her, hatred oozing from every pore.

“Surprised to see me?”

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

 _You sit there in your heartache_  
_Waiting on some beautiful boy to_  
_To save you from your old ways_  
_You play forgiveness_  
**When You Were Young – The Killers**

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Clarke woke up, it took her a moment to remember where she was. She sat up in a panic, scrambling at whatever was pinching at her arm, and then Jackson’s face was above her, soothing her, holding her down.

She took a breath.

It all came flooding back to her; looking up to find her own face staring back, the three menacing versions of herself staring down at her, the one that looked the most like her yet felt the most detached from who she was seemingly in charge of the others.

She gasped in the next one, and this time it was someone else’s face above her.

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s hands were on her face, cupping her cheeks, and she used it to ground herself.

She was wrong – none of that could have happened; it was impossible. There weren’t three versions of herself walking around in the world, she’d hallucinated them.

“Hey,” he said, tears in his eyes. Tears of _relief,_ she registered. “How you feeling?”

She swallowed, trying to remember how words formed in her mouth. “Tired.”

He laughed, watery, and she brought her fingers up to press the gauze on the back of her head, wincing when it sent sharp bolts of pain rocketing through her head.

“Tired.” Bellamy repeated. He stroked a few strands of hair back from her face. “Yeah, I think you’re entitled to feel tired, Princess.”

She closed her eyes.

_Princess._

Exhaled shakily.

_“If only he knew how much of a lie that title is.”_

Oh good. The voices were back.

_“Princess. Remember when he used to use that word to hurt you?”_

_“Now he only says it when he thinks it’ll make you smile.”_

_“Pathetic, really.”_

“What happened?” She opened her eyes, slowly finding her voice again.

He sighed. “We were hoping you’d tell us that. Jordan saw you pass out and then he went looking for a doctor and found me. When we got back to your room, the door was locked and I had to kick it open to get in. Did you lock it?”

“No, I…” she couldn’t tell him about her hallucinations, “the last thing I remember was passing out and asking Jordan not to tell you.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” She admitted.

“Oh, well, mission accomplished then,” he teased, and she choked out a laugh, moaning when it made her head throb. He sighed again, letting his hands fall back into his lap. “You really scared me, Clarke.”

_“Oh you haven’t seen nothing yet.”_

She bit her lip and ignored the voice. “Sorry.”

“I guess I’m just going to have to stay close from now on, make sure nothing like that happens again.”

“Oh, Bellamy, you don’t have to–”

“–this isn’t up for discussion, Princess.”

She managed a half-smile. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He said, shoulders slumping with something like relief. “Jackson says you only need to stay here for observation one more day and then you can go back to your place. I, uh… if it’s alright with you, I can help you get settled, maybe stay on the couch so you’ve got someone close if you need something.”

She nodded, making the room spin a little. Her eyes fluttered shut as sleep beckoned once more, and she dimly registered him squeezing her hand.

“I’ll be here when you wake up. I'm not going anywhere.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

  
_Will my face give me away_  
_I know it won't_  
_Cause I don't even feel_

 _I just reflect what you expect_  
_So you don't suspect that_  
_I could be exactly who I am_  
**Terrible Things - Alice Smith and the Great Picture Show**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wanheda rolled her shoulders and straightened, looking in the mirror.

Today she was dressed as Clarke. She always dressed as Clarke when she needed something from Bellamy. With the others, she didn’t even need to bother, they weren’t paying attention to her clothes. He was the only one who seemed to notice that her behaviour had been off, and ever since Clarke’s “attack” he’d been more watchful than ever.

In fact, he’d taken to spending most nights in her apartment, making dinner for her and Madi who had suddenly decided she actually liked spending nights there instead of at Raven’s. It was interesting how tragedy brought people together, made them into a twisted kind of family.

There was a part of her, the one that fizzled with lust – not love; there wasn’t room for it in the fragment she called a heart, not when Clarke was clinging to it so desperately – that registered the sweetness of Bellamy’s concern. He was always hovering somewhere nearby, arms ready to catch her if she fell.

When Wanheda was the one who pretended to stumble and his arms wrapped solidly around her, she could acknowledge the flicker of lust deep in her belly in a way that Clarke couldn’t. She had no qualms about acting on it either, but she knew she couldn’t. Not if she wanted this plan to work. So she thought about shoving him against a wall and screwing his brains out and instead she just ran her hands along the rippling muscles in his shoulder before she stepped out of his space.

She made a point of “falling” more often after that.

She made sure to soften her expression before she emerged from the bathroom, leaving Clarke unconscious in the bath. It was the best she could do at short notice.

When she sat down at the table, Bellamy smiled over at her, carrying only a hint of the worry he’d been wearing like shackles for the last week.

“Any news about Octavia?” Wanheda asked, thinking about the girl – tied up and starving to death behind a wall.

His expression darkened as he poured her a drink. “No, not yet.”

“I’m sure they’ll find her, Bellamy,” she said, reaching over to clasp his hand. She kept her gaze on his, making her eyes as wide and earnest as she could. “She can’t have gotten far.”

“Yeah,” he sounded uncertain, but he shook his head a little and the warm smile returned. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she popped a tomato into her mouth. “Although I think I’d be getting better faster if this was Murphy’s cooking.”

His mouth dropped open in mock offense and she laughed, squeezing his fingers.

He glanced down in surprise at the realisation that they were still holding hands. Instead of pulling away, like she expected him to, he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand, thinking. When he looked up again, there was something sad creasing the corners of his eyes.

She tilted her head at him and he frowned, contemplative, like there were words building behind his closed lips, and she really wanted to kiss them. Not because of the usual reasons, like that she loved him and had for a long time, or even that she had been aching to know if he was as good a kisser as those rumours claimed all those years ago – but because of spite.

She wanted to kiss him to trap those words inside his mouth and never let them out.

But she couldn’t do that, not yet.

So instead, she smiled.

She smiled and said the words she knew would hurt him the most.

“I missed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, listen, I know this chapter is an insane clusterfuck and has probably raised more questions than it answered but I NEEDED to get it out there before the last two chapters, because Wanheda makes a lot more *outdoor* appearances in those two, and you need context.
> 
> So. 
> 
> What are you all thinking??? 
> 
> Have I lost my mind??? Has Clarke??? Does this story make any kind of narrative sense??? All this and more, next time on GLEE!!


	4. I Stop Making Sense Of What Isn't There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I think I’m going crazy,” she said softly, staring at anything but him._
> 
>  
> 
> _He inhaled sharply, “What makes you say that?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“I have these nightmares, all the time, but I… I can never remember them.” A single tear slipped down her cheek and fell onto the back of her hand – a perfect droplet, unmoving on her skin. “I wake up terrified, Bellamy, I’m so scared all the time, but I don’t remember what I’m scared of. I’m losing ti– I’m scared I’m losing it, Bellamy. What if I’m just… broken? What if I snapped after Praimfaya?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That first episode, amirite?!?!? The Blarke of it all??? The *not-so-surprise* death??? The tension??? I have THOUGHTS, so feel free to come yell at me about it on tumblr, I'm @talistheintrovert there too. 
> 
> This fic has officially become Canon Divergent rather than Spec, but AT LEAST WE'RE ALL HAVING FUN! Well, at least, Wanheda is.
> 
> Back to normal programming with this chapter - switching between Clarke and Bellamy's POVs - with a couple of Wanheda POVs thrown in for good measure. 
> 
> There's a lot of ramping up in this chapter, so I hope you're ready for a lot of revelations and a lot of anxiety!

_And you are the cold when I am alone_  
_I stop making sense of what isn't there_  
_And I am a garden in this fight_  
_Please hold me close and don't let me go_

 _Monsters, they're monsters, pretend to be friends_  
_Monsters, they're monsters, they hide in my bed_  
  
_Monsters, they're monsters, don't fuck with my head_  
_Monsters, they're monsters, they want to be fed_  
_Monsters, those monsters, off with their heads_  
_Monsters, those monsters, I'll sleep when they're dead_  
  
_I'm so sorry_  
_So what happens now?_  
_You say goodbye  
_ **Monsters - Thelma Plum**

 

 

 

 

 

The silence was always the thing that frightened her the most.

The sounds of war, the last death rattle of a dying man, the sound of fire roaring towards her – none of it ever held a candle to the never-ending _silence._

Because it was in the silence that Death came.

It was in the silence that everything was stripped away to nothing, and there was no escape from it. You can run from war and dead men and fire and floods and everything else, but no-one can run from silence. From the _nothingness._

Clarke had been running her entire life just to escape its hold on her, and at this point she knew she never would.

Because silence _lingered._

It shrouded every moment since the first time she’d heard it, and with every return, it only felt louder, more oppressive.

One day the nothing would swallow her whole. It was inevitable, like the passage of time: the silence came for everybody, and she deserved it more than most.

Lately, silence had been haunting her more than ever. Because it only ever came in between the voices that sneered in her head and the nightmares she still couldn’t remember having. It crept through the cracks in her consciousness and hid in the corner of her smile.

It was in the silence that she was trapped, with three voices circling her head like harbingers of doom.

She was going to die.

She knew that.

She’d told herself.

 _“I want you to admit who you are, Clarke.”_   The version of herself with steel eyes had said. _“And then I want you to die alone, slowly and painfully, with the knowledge that your friends hated you before they died.”_

In the bathroom, surrounded by the voices in her head, she had dimly registered that no-one was coming to help her. She had listened and found only nothingness, and she fought it, but it was dragging her under.

Then Bellamy appeared and her world flooded with yelling and jostling and _noise._

Constant, grounding, noise.

And every time she felt herself slipping into the nothing, she would catch on to a thread of sound and tug. Bellamy huffing to himself while he read on the couch, Murphy singing loudly and very off-key when he came over to make dinner, the ambient noise of everyday life – _anything,_ to keep her from that never-ending wave of silence.

But at night, nothing could save her.

At night, silence crept in with the darkness and took root behind her eyes.

At night, the universe snatched away everybody she’d ever loved, and laughed about it.

At night, she broke.

 

* * *

_You've been holding on so long_  
_You keep pushing me out_  
_You don't know where you belong_

 _So you say to me now_  
_"I need nothing from nobody"_  
_But I can see it on your face you're hurting_  
_Grab a hold of me_  
**Hold Of Me – Dean Lewis**

 

 

 

 

 

Bellamy had been spending a lot of time in Clarke’s apartment since her attack, particularly in the evenings, but he hadn’t actually stayed over many nights.

He had tried to basically move in with her when she went home – staying on the couch every night – which for some reason seemed to make her uncomfortable, so after the first few days he returned to his own quarters to sleep.

She was getting better, and he knew rationally that she didn’t need him around as much anymore, but he couldn’t refrain from stopping by every night and talking to her until she yawned, and always, always offering to stay.

Clarke tutted at him when he did, told him he was mothering her and shooed him out the door. She always did it with a smile, the one she reserved for him that was all soft edges and warm eyes and _affection,_ which, in hindsight, was probably why he let her. It was hard to say no to her when she looked at him like that.

He realised his mistake on one of the few nights he actually managed to stay past midnight, just over a week since Clarke had been released from Jackson’s care.

He must have dozed off on the couch, and she must have been too kind to wake him, because he snapped into consciousness and immediately realised there was a blanket over him that definitely hadn’t been there when he fell asleep.

He glanced around, confused, until he heard it again: the noise that woke him up.

Clarke was screaming.

He kicked off the blanket and stumbled over the arm of the couch in his efforts to get to her room, and as he reached the hall, Madi’s door was yanked open and the girl flew out, eyes wide. She looked to him and he held up his hands placatingly.

“I got this.” He said. “Don’t worry about her, okay, I’ve got this.”

She nodded, folding her arms over herself anxiously as she leaned against the doorframe, and he cracked open Clarke’s door. The screams had subsided, but the air still felt thick with it.

“Clarke?” He asked, gentle. There was no response, so he moved slowly into the room, hearing the lock snick behind him. It was dark in there, suffocating, and he waited for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he finally caught sight of her, pushed right up into the corner of her mattress, back pressed almost painfully into the wall and fingers bunched in her hair, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

“Clarke?” He tried again, taking a hesitant step forward.

Her face was pressed into her knees and her arms were covering her ears, so he wasn’t even sure she knew he was there and he didn’t want to scare her. He crept closer until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and at the dip of the mattress, her head whipped up.

Her features were gaunt, eyes wild and lost, and her face crumpled when she realised it was him, tears streaming relentlessly past her lashes.

He didn’t second guess himself, he just crawled forward until he was next to her and tugged her forward just enough to get behind her. He took her place in the corner and fit her between his legs, wrapping his arms firmly around her waist and holding her to him. She went willingly, collapsing back against his chest like she couldn’t bear to be anywhere else, sobbing even as he tucked his chin into her shoulder and promised her it was okay.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, leaning his forehead on her cheek, “you’re okay, Princess, I’ve got you.”

She was shaking in his arms and he wished more than anything that he could do something to make it all better.

“What do you need, Clarke? What can I do?”

Her breath hitched. “Just… ah, just sta- stay with me?” She begged, hands tightening on his forearms.

“Course, of course I’ll stay,” he promised. “As long as you need me.”

“I’ll always need you.” She whispered, and he wasn’t sure he was even supposed to hear it. He simply readjusted his arms so she was more comfortable and pressed his temple reassuringly against her cheek.

“I’ve got you.” He repeated.

“No.” She shuddered violently. “No-one does. I’m all alone.”

“Clarke…”

“I’m all alone.” She cried, body wracked with sobs, like now that she’d started she might never stop.

“You’re not, Clarke, I promise,” he didn’t know how to convince her, how to make it all okay, and he wasn’t sure he could. He just held her tighter and promised over and over again; “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but eventually, exhausted, she dropped her head back on his shoulder and he lifted his own, staring down at her worriedly. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her nails were digging into him like she was still frightened he’d disappear.

Her throat moved as she swallowed, but she didn’t open her eyes when she said, “I wish you went home. I never wanted you to see me like this. I’m so sorry, Bellamy.”

His heart broke.

Just like that.

He _felt it,_ somewhere deep in his chest, the drawn-out elastic of a heart stretched far too thin, finally reaching its breaking point.

Clarke Griffin thought she was broken and his heart couldn’t live with that.

It was screaming in his ears but all he could hear was the waver in her voice when she said his name, and the pain soaking every word that slipped from her lips.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” he snapped, anger rising to cover his worry and heartache and panic. “I want to _help,_ Clarke.”

Her eyes fell open but it was like she was looking right through him when she said, “No-one can help me, Bellamy.”

“Don’t say that,” his voice was barely audible, but he was begging, “please, Princess, don’t say that.”

She sighed, the sigh of someone older than her years – weary beyond measure. “It’s okay. Just… I don’t want to die alone, Bellamy. Don’t let me die alone.”

“Stop,” the word caught against his teeth, not coming out the way he wanted; he sounded small, frightened, like the day they’d sat together against a tree and he’d finally told her who he really was.

“Promise me.”

“No.”

“Bellamy, promise me.”

“I won’t.”

She shoved at his arms until he released her, twisting to face him. _“Why not?”_

“You’re not dying on me, Clarke,” he growled, clasping at her shoulders in a gesture eerily reminiscent of the last time she’d tried to say goodbye but somehow so much more intimate. “I can’t lose you again, so don’t you _dare._ Don’t you dare ask me to promise you that. Anything, Clarke, I’ll do _anything_ for you, but I can’t… you’re not dying. I won’t let you.”

He knew he sounded half-deranged, that his eyes were probably wild with panic at the thought of losing her, but there was no universe where he was going to let that happen again.

“Please don’t ask me to do that,” he pleaded.

“Don’t let me die alone, Bellamy,” she said softly, the backs of her fingers brushing against his stomach when she reached for his hand. “Praimfaya…” she swallowed, hard, “I know we don’t talk about it, and I know it must have been hard for you up on the Ring. But when the deathwave hit, I was okay. I was okay because I knew I’d done everything I could to make sure you all lived. But I… I was lying on the floor and I knew I was dying, and all I could think about was that I wished I wasn’t alone. I wished that I could hear your voice one more time, just so I didn’t die without anyone to say goodbye to. I know it’s not fair, I know what I’m asking is a lot, but I _need_ this. I need _you._ Please.”

“Why are you always trying to say goodbye to me?” He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, thumb stroking the tears away.

She sighed in defeat and curled back up against his chest, tugging his arms around her.

“Alright, Clarke. I promise,” he said into the dark above her head. “But you’re not going anywhere, okay? I’m not letting you die again.”

“Okay.” She mumbled against his collarbone. And just like that, he felt all the tension leave her, muscles slumping as she snuggled closer.

Bellamy couldn’t relax until he felt her breathing even out and he knew she was sleeping, so he sat there for god knows how long, just stroking her back and trying to reassure her without words. When he was certain she was finally unconscious again, he finally felt like he could draw breath, and he kissed her forehead tenderly. Everything was wrong and there was no way to fix it, but he could still be there for her. He could still hold her while she cried.

For now, that was enough.

But he had to do something. He had to fix this.

In the morning.

He lolled his head back until it hit the wall and closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

_I will be here_  
_When you think you're all alone_  
_Seeping through the cracks_  
_I'm the poison in your bones  
_ **The Devil Within - Digital Daggers**

 

 

 

 

 

Wanheda hadn’t been expecting Bellamy to run in and promise Clarke he would take care of her; he had reacted even better than she anticipated.

She had only expected him to be sympathetic for a moment, maybe tuck her back into bed, but this was far, far better.

Now he was _invested._

Now Clarke felt less alone.

Which meant it would hurt them both all the more when she tore them apart.

“Did you feel that?” Finn’s Clarke asked, cutting through the silence of The Nothing.

“Feel what?”

She paused. “Nothing, just… never mind.”

Wanheda frowned and leaned forward, “Are you sure it’s nothing?”

“I don’t know, when he was talking to her, it was like… like I was getting stronger. Didn’t you feel it?”

In truth, Wanheda was so used to leeching strength from Clarke that she forgot the other two weren’t experiencing it in the same way she was.

“Oh.” She smirked. “Yeah.”

Mount Weather Clarke glanced between them both. “Well now I feel like I’m missing out.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll feel it soon.” Wanheda grinned. “Everything’s right on track.”

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

_You said, "Don't treat me badly"_  
_But you said it so sadly_  
_So I did the best I could_  
_Not thinkin' you would have left me gladly_  
_I know you're not sorry_  
_Why should you be?_  
_'Cause who am I to be in love_  
_When your love never is for me?_  
**8 – Billie Eilish**

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Clarke woke up, she was warm, and her blanket was wrapped tightly around her. She curled closer to it instinctually, and flinched when it moved.

The night came rushing back to her; the nightmare she still couldn’t remember, waking up screaming and fighting off something that wasn’t there, Bellamy coming in-

Bellamy.

That’s where she was – she’d fallen asleep in the circle of his arms, pressed comfortably against his chest. She startled and tried to extricate herself, but his arms tensed around her as he woke up.

“Clarke?” His voice was husky from sleep and a tiny part of her wished she was waking up with him for different reasons, but she couldn’t think about that. Not anymore. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and he released her, rubbing the back of his neck. “You okay?”

“That’s a loaded question,” she joked, but it fell flat. She pulled away from him and propped herself up on the opposite wall, bringing her knees up to her chest. He was still staring at her, waiting for an answer, but she didn’t have one.

She shrugged.

“Clarke…”

Tears were building in her eyes again and her room began to distort, blurring and twisting as she tried to blink them back. The shadows seemed to creep forward.

They always did.

“I think I’m going crazy,” she said softly, staring at anything but him.

He inhaled sharply, “What makes you say that?”

“I have these nightmares, all the time, but I… I can never remember them.” A single tear slipped down her cheek and fell onto the back of her hand – a perfect droplet, unmoving on her skin. “I wake up terrified, Bellamy, I’m so scared all the time, but I don’t remember what I’m scared of. I’m losing ti– I’m scared I’m losing it, Bellamy. What if I’m just… broken? What if I snapped after Praimfaya?”

She laughed humourlessly, shaking her head at herself.

“I mean, fuck, maybe none of this is real. Maybe I’m still lying back in Becca’s lab, dying all over again and my brain made up the entire thing – the whole of the last six years. I mean, it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I lose everyone I love and when I finally get them back, everything goes so wrong that we ruin the planet and have to be cryogenically frozen for over a hundred years. It’s exactly the kind of nonsense a radiation-addled brain would come up with. Or… or maybe this is all just punishment for my sins. I have to live in this world where I ruin everything I touch, where I lose everyone I love, where I’m the bad guy.”

“You’re not, Clarke,” he said, his voice bolstered with certainty. She knew he was staring at her with that _look_ of his, the one that always made her heart skip beats, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet it.

“But I am,” she whispered, “maybe not to you, but to everyone else… I am.”

“Well then screw everyone else,” he growled. Her head jerked up. His eyes were earnest, the way she knew they would be, but his tone was angry. _On her behalf,_ she realised. He took a breath, centering himself, before he continued. “If you want forgiveness–”

“–I don’t.”

He faltered. “Clarke…?”

“Not this time, Bellamy. Not after everything I’ve done. I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s too much. You don’t get to tell me it’s okay, because it isn’t and I’ve done _too much_ to be forgiven this time.”

“Do you really think that little of yourself?” He asked.

She smiled, sadly. “Always.”

“Even after all the good you’ve done–”

“–for a _price.”_   She interjected. “All the good came with a price, and the price was always too high. And every time, I paid it anyway. I paid it because I thought I had to, because I thought I was doing the right thing. But so did all the others, and I killed them for it; grounders, Mount Weather, hell, the entire planet died because I picked my side.”

“You can’t blame yourself for everything, Clarke–”

“–no? Watch me.”

“You’re not a god, Clarke, you can’t have known half of those things were going to go the way they did. Blaming yourself isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“No, but forgiveness isn’t either. Not anymore.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Exhaled through his nose.

Opened it again. “Okay. Okay, but I’m not going anywhere. Not this time. You can push me away all you want, you can say you don’t want my forgiveness, you can say that all this is your fault, but you’re not getting rid of me.”

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, hitting the wall with a dull thump. “Why?”

“Because we need each other,” he said simply, echoing the words she’d said to him so many years ago.

“You haven’t needed me in a very long time.” She said, and her heart clenched at the words even as she forced them from her lips.

“That’s not true.”

“No?”

“No. I’ll always need you.”

The words stung so she scoffed. “What about me? What about what I need? Last time I needed you, you left me chained up so you could break your only promise to me.”

“Clarke.”

“Please just…” she pressed her palms into her eye sockets, “please stop. You don’t need me, and I spent years waiting for you, only to be broken when you came back just to leave me again. I… I need Bellamy, but you’re not him. You’re not the man I need. You’re not the man I fell in love with.”

The silence stretched out between them and she let it, let the words sit in the air where they belonged. Surprisingly, she didn’t regret it.

It could have been ten minutes or an hour, but finally she felt him move, the mattress shifting as he slid off it and started walking towards the door.

“I’m getting us breakfast.” He said softly. “I’m not leaving, Clarke. Not again.”

The door closed behind him and she hated herself for lying.

Because even if he wasn’t _her_ Bellamy, he was still _Bellamy._

And she loved him.

* * *

_Tried absolution of the mind and soul_  
_It only led me where I should not go_  
_Oh and the answer well,_  
_How could I miss_  
_Something as simple as this?  
_ **Simple As This - Jake Bugg**

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Bellamy left Clarke’s room, Madi was on the couch, in full commander’s garb, staring down at her shoes.

“Hey kid, aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”

She shrugged, still just staring. He walked past her and into the kitchen, putting bread in the toaster and boiling water for coffee. Through it all, she just sat there, like she was battling with herself, and he wondered if it was her own mind or the other commanders that she was struggling with.

He plated up the food and poured the coffee into mugs, and when he’d successfully balanced both plates on one arm and had both cups in the other, he started back towards Clarke’s room, only to hear a sniffle from behind him.

“Madi, you alright?” He asked, concerned.

“I didn’t think she was doing it anymore.” Madi whispered.

He paused, halfway to the door. “What?”

“That’s why I started spending so many nights at Raven’s.” She sniffed. “Because she kept having nightmares and she’d wake up screaming or yelling or crying and I… I didn’t know how to help her. I tried to talk to Raven about it when it first started, but she didn’t wanna know, and I didn’t know how to fix it, so I kept making up excuses to stay over at hers or with Murphy and Emori.”

“Madi…”

“It scared me,” she admitted, looking away. “It scared me, so I ran away.”

He sighed, putting the food down on the table and moving to sit on the couch with her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a side-hug like he used to do with Octavia. “You don’t have to be ashamed of that, Madi. You’re just a kid. You’re allowed to be scared when your mom’s upset.”

“But I never said anything to anyone, I just kept avoiding it, and then I think she started to think I was avoiding _her,_ and what if she thinks I don’t love her anymore? What if she doesn’t love _me_ anymore, because I just _ignored_ her when she needed someone?”

He swallowed, pointedly ignoring the way his heart had dropped at the words. “Kid, I don’t know much, but I know that your mom loves you more than anyone in the world. She’s not gonna stop just because you were scared of some nightmares. Clarke doesn’t expect you to help her; that’s not your responsibility, okay?”

“Whose responsibility is it then?” She swiped the tears from her cheeks crossly, and he realised it was the first time he’d seen her really act like herself since The Flame. “Who takes care of Clarke?”

That was easy.

“I do.”

She scoffed. “Two weeks ago you thought she killed Doctor Shore, now you, what, you’ve forgotten that? You’ve forgotten everything your sister said?”

“No.” He muttered. “But even if she did, even if we find out that Octavia was right… I’ll still take care of her. Because the Clarke I know wouldn’t do something like that for no reason. I’m on her side, okay? I promise.”

“Like you were on her side at the bunker?” She asked.

It was a low blow, but not an undeserved one.

He shook his head. “No. I’m not walking away from her again. Not even to save her life.”

“Good.” Madi, satisfied, patted his knee and then clambered to her feet and shuffled towards the front door. “Bellamy?”

He rolled his head around to look at her. “Yeah, kid?”

“Take care of my mom.”

“That an order, Commander?” He asked, teasing.

She frowned, unamused. “I’m not the Commander here. I’m just a girl who loves her mom, and whose mom loves you. So take care of her. Please.”

With that, she was gone, and Bellamy scrubbed a hand down his face to get his bearings. It was one thing to know that Clarke loved him, in an abstract kind of way, it was entirely another to have both her and Madi tell him in the space of a morning.

He was about to get up and take Clarke her breakfast when she emerged from her room, looking slightly more put together than before.

“Hey,” he said, unable to come up with anything better.

She didn’t speak, just sat down on the couch next to him and reached for one of the mugs.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted toast or eggs, so I made both.”

She sipped her coffee. “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure?”

She raised an eyebrow at him over the cup.

He huffed. “You haven’t eaten since last night; you _need_ to eat something. Doctor’s orders, remember?”

“I distinctly remember _you_ not having any medical knowledge,” she clapped back, downing the rest of the drink in a single swig. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be, and you probably have to meet Echo and Raven somewhere so they can tell you how toxic I am.”

She got to her feet and he was up like a shot, catching her wrist. “Hey, that’s not fair–”

“–no, Bellamy, what’s not fair is you claiming you need me out of some sick sense of guilt over my attack. Well, I absolve you – I was attacked, you weren’t there, I’m better. You can stop coming around to placate yourself now.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” He snapped.

“Then _why?_ Why _are_ you here?” She asked, stepping closer, right into his space, staring up at him with something like malice in her eyes even when they darted down to his lips. There was a challenge in it, in all of it, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer her question and admit what he already knew, deep down.

She scoffed. “That’s what I thought.”

With that, she was gone, and he leaned against the counter near the door, trying to get his bearings and failing miserably.

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

 _So mark my words_  
_Before you swallow yours just like a pill_

 _Started as a question, ended as a fact_  
_When I found out I'm the only one that has my back_  
_I'm drowning_  
_Cause they fill my lungs with venom_

 _And the sharks are coming out and they're hungry now_  
_Sharks are coming out, I fought them back_  
**This Mountain – Faouzia**

 

 

 

 

 

Wanheda left Clarke’s apartment with a smile in her cheeks and a spring in her step.

It was ramping up to be a good day.

 _“Not if we don’t get those records.”_   Mount Weather Clarke reminded her.

“Yes, thank you for stating the obvious,” she muttered, striding down the corridor. “Want to remind me what colour the sky is, while you’re at it?”

The door was locked, but that wasn’t a problem for her; she checked that she was out of view of any cameras and then she closed her eyes, about to dematerialise, when–

“Clarke?”

She opened them again and was met with the site of Charmaine Diyoza strolling towards her.

 _“Oh, fucking **perfect**.”_  Finn’s Clarke groaned.

“Diyoza,” she nodded politely. “Did you need something?”

The other woman only quirked the corner of her mouth up in a vague approximation of a smile. “I could ask you the same question. Is there any reason you’re hovering in front of Doctor Shore’s office?”

 _“We can use this to our advantage.”_   That was Mount Weather talking, but Wanheda was way ahead of her.

“I just… I don’t know, I just… sometimes I have trouble walking down this hallway, that’s all. It’s like every time I see his door I’m right back where I was before I discovered the body, seeing the door ajar and the red on the floor and running in to find… well. It’s difficult sometimes, that’s all.” She raised her eyes to see if Diyoza was buying it and – surprise, surprise – she wasn’t.

_Dammit._

“Of course,” Diyoza said, commiserative, despite the distrust in her gaze. “If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you just avoid this corridor if it bothers you? No-one’s forcing you to walk through here.”

Wanheda pressed her lips together the way Clarke always did when she was coming up with the right thing to say. “I, uh… no-one else comes down here anymore, since he was killed, and sometimes when I want to be alone, it’s easier to walk this way because I know I won’t see anyone else. Aside from you, apparently. Come to think of it, why are _you_ down here? Shouldn’t you be at home with your daughter?”

“She’s sleeping,” she said, folding her arms. “I’ve been going stir crazy so I thought I’d investigate Shore’s office myself, see if anyone needs my services. I’m not good at being idle.”

“I know the feeling.”

Diyoza seemed to unwind a little, and she looked her up and down appraisingly. “Yes, I suppose you do.”

She smiled coolly, “Thank you for your concern. That seems to be few and far between for me lately.”

“I’ve noticed.” Diyoza’s expression was solemn. “Be careful where you tread, Clarke. Only the dead have seen the end of war, and even the Commander of Death is not immune.”

Wanheda frowned. “What?”

“You think just because I have a newborn that I haven’t heard the stories? That I haven’t heard the word that the useless spy throws around instead of calling you by name? I’m no fool, _Wanheda._ The only thing I haven’t figured out is if you’re the robin or the sparrow.”

She started moving past her, turning only to say, “See you around, Clarke,” before she was gone and Wanheda was finally alone again.

_“What was that about?”_

“Don’t know,” she frowned into the empty hallway. “We’ll worry about her later, right now we need those files.”

She flickered out of existence, reappearing in front of BATES. She ignored its incessant humming and turned to rummage through Doctor Shore’s files until she found the ones she was looking for.

“Excellent.” She murmured. “Now, which one of you is going to check on Octavia while I make sure this works?”

Finn’s Clarke sighed. _“I got her.”_

With that, she left The Nothing and Wanheda made her way back towards Clarke’s apartment. This was going to be fun.

* * *

 

* * *

 

* * *

_All the good girls go to Hell_  
_'Cause even God herself has enemies_  
_And once the water starts to rise_  
_And Heaven's out of sight_  
_She'll want the Devil on her team_

 _My Lucifer is lonely_  
**all the good girls go to hell – Billie Eilish**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clarke woke up and emerged from her room on shaky legs. She wasn’t exactly sure when she’d fallen asleep, but it happened shortly after Bellamy left her room. She wasn’t surprised to find that he wasn’t there when she emerged, but she smiled when she realised he’d left her breakfast on the table in front of the couch.

She snatched a piece of cold toast off the plate and bit into it as she headed towards the door.

Before she reached it, it swung open, and Russell and six armed men were standing in front of her. Her eyebrows practically flew off her head.

“Uh. What’s going on?” She asked, completely baffled.

Russell steepled his fingers and sighed disapprovingly. “Clarke Griffin, on behalf of all of Sanctum, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Doctor Aurelius Shore and for conspiring with Octavia Blake. I do not recommend resisting.”

She blinked.

The men started moving into her living room and she took an instinctive step back, face contorting into a mask of panic and confusion.

“What? What are you talking about?” She asked, holding her hands up in surrender, which only served to make it hard for them as they grabbed her wrists to cuff them behind her back.

“There’s no point in denials, Miss Griffin. We have you on tape arriving at the scene earlier than you said you did, before leaving and returning again. We have you on tape in Miss Blake’s room before she went missing, sedating her and putting her on a gurney to move her out of her cell. We know you were in this murder together – that you helped Miss Blake kill the doctor and then hid it from us, and helped her escape when she needed to.” He stepped aside so the officers could lead her out of her own apartment, pushing at her so she stumbled. “If you tell me where Miss Blake is now, I will be lenient.”

Her pulse was jumping and she felt like her throat was closing up, restricting her airflow. She shook her head frantically. “I don’t know where she is, I swear.”

He frowned pensively.

“I believe you. How unfortunate for you.” He waved a hand to the guards, “Take her away.”

 

* * *

_I'm losing you, and it's effortless_  
_Without a sound we lose sight of the ground_  
_In the throw around_  
_Never thought that you wanted to bring it down_  
_I won't let it go down till we torch it ourselves_  
**Over My Head (Cable Car) – The Fray**

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Bellamy?”

It sounded like someone was calling his name, and he glanced around, eyes raking over the field and forest behind him, but he must have imagined it.

He turned back and continued walking towards the Eligius ship – Raven had called a meeting and all of them were expected to be there – he was running late because of his discussions with Madi and Clarke, but he knew they wouldn’t start without him.

“Bellamy?” The voice called again, just as he reached the ship, and he halted in his tracks. It was unmistakable this time.

He waited.

“Bellamy,” Diyoza said, appearing from a thicket of trees to his left, “I know these meetings are supposed to be invite only, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to join you.”

He hesitated.

“It’s about Clarke.” She offered.

He gave in, nodding once before he opened the door and walked in to find his friends all already sitting there, as well as Abby and Madi. The only person missing was Murphy.

“Oh, I guess it’s a party,” Raven rolled her eyes. “First Jordan brings the Griffins, now you’ve dragged in Diyoza.”

“It’s my house,” Jordan pointed out, “and they deserve to be involved. It’s _Clarke.”_

Raven couldn’t argue with that, so she tapped at the keyboard and Shaw stood up. He wrung his hands. “I found something, uh… something bad.”

“Feel like letting us know the specifics, or…?” Miller asked.

Shaw winced.

Raven pressed a button and one of the screens switched on, showing footage of Octavia’s cell right before she was abducted, when Bellamy was still in there. She was staring up at him, worried, while he backed away. Barely ten seconds passed after he left the room before Clarke walked in. She smiled at Octavia when she sedated her, and then draped her over a gurney and hid her face with a sheet.

The screen flicked off.

“Uh.” Jordan’s eyes widened. “Was that–”

“Clarke taking Octavia? Yes.” Raven said.

“How did… I thought the cameras were down when Octavia disappeared?” Bellamy asked.

Shaw shook his head. “Someone messed with them; they only _appeared_ as if they were down, but they were just being kept behind a firewall. Took me a couple of days, but I cracked it in the end.”

“I have a question,” Emori asked, brows furrowed. “Is Clarke kidnapping Octavia or are they working together?”

“More importantly, who else is she working with that knows how to tamper with the software in these advanced cameras?” Raven gestured at the screen, “Shaw and I barely got our heads round it in the first few weeks; you think Clarke could hack into the cameras like that? Not likely.”

The questions swum around Bellamy’s head, and it felt wrong even _asking_ _them,_ because this was _Clarke_ and she wouldn’t do any of that. But video footage couldn’t lie.

Diyoza shook her head solemnly. “That’s actually why I’m here. I caught Clarke earlier, outside Shore’s office, and she seemed… off.”

“Off how?” Abby asked.

“I don’t know, like… she was saying all the right things, but there was something there that just didn’t feel like Clarke. Like the difference between a photograph and a negative – not quite there, not quite finished. It’s hard to explain.”

“No, that’s exactly how it feels,” Shaw said, “when I see her sometimes, it’s like she’s not who I’m expecting to see. It’s nothing tangible, but it’s there.”

Echo threw up her hands. “Great, but more importantly, what are we going to do about her?”

Bellamy couldn’t focus. “We help her.”

She scoffed. “Sure. I’ll just offer her my sword in case she needs it for another murder.”

“Echo, shut up.” Miller snapped, hand dropping to the gun in his holster. There was a fire in his eyes that Bellamy hadn’t seen in years. “Clarke kept us alive, _all of us,_ including _you,_ countless times when she gained nothing in return. Now maybe she _did_ kill that doctor and maybe she was working with Octavia or maybe she kidnapped her, but we owe it to her to give her the benefit of the doubt. Everyone in this room owes Clarke Griffin.”

Silence fell as his words sunk in.

He was right – every single one of them owed Clarke their lives.

And they’d been willing to throw hers away at the slightest doubt.

Bellamy’s hands curled into fists and he opened his mouth to speak.

The door clanged open, smacking the wall and bouncing back, breaking through their reveries and startling them all to action. Their heads whipped round to face it and they fell into defensive postures, but instead of an attacker, it was Murphy who appeared.

Murphy was panting like he’d sprinted all the way there, and he burst through them all to stand in the centre of the room, yelling incomprehensively.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Murphy, _slow down.”_   Bellamy said. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s–” he gasped for air, “–Clarke! She’s been arrested!”

 

* * *

_God damn right, you should be scared of me_  
_Who is in control?_

_I'm well acquainted with villains that live in my head_  
_They beg me to write them so they'll never die when I'm dead_  
**Control - Halsey**

 

 

 

 

 

 

The cell was tiny, smaller even than the one on the Ark had been.

Clarke was sitting on the cot, eyes closed as she tried to gather herself, and the only sounds in the small room were of her slow breathing and the faint thrum of her heart.

It was silent – oppressively so – and she knew what the silence meant:

Death.

“Astute as usual,” a familiar voice said. Clarke opened her eyes to find herself standing in front of her, leaning back against the bars and smirking. Wanheda’s eyes were darker than the last time she’d seen them, the stormy blue had swirled into more of a thunderous sky, but they were still her eyes.

“Why are you doing this?” Clarke asked.

Wanheda cocked her head. “It’s what we deserve.”

“I should have known,” Clarke almost laughed. “All the dangers I’ve faced, everything I’ve been through, all the people who want me dead, and the thing that finally kills me is you. The person that hates me the most.”

“Poetic, isn’t it?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve read any poetry.” She hummed. Wanheda said nothing, simply stared at her while she pondered it. Clarke picked at the rough material of the cot beneath her as she recited the lines that sprang forth from the recesses of her memory, _“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head).”_

“Cute.”

“Sylvia Plath.” She said, even though Wanheda knew. Clarke sighed. “Why are you here?”

“Because I want you to know who’s doing this to you. I want you to know that it was me.”

“You’re not real.” She muttered.

“I’m more real than you are.” She cocked her head. “Look at you, you’re wasting away. You’re barely a person anymore.”

“You’re not real.”

“I am.”

“You’re not real.”

“I AM!” Wanheda stormed forward angrily and fisted her hands in Clarke’s shirt, yanking her up to shove her against the wall. Her gaze dropped to her lips, just briefly. “I’m more than you’ll ever be.”

“You’re not real,” Clarke whispered. “I’m losing my mind.”

Wanheda snarled and headbutted her and–

_Silence._

_Three shards of Clarke woke up in The Nothing – one forged of loss and sacrifice, one of the weight of all she’d done, and one of death and destruction and fire._

_Wanheda was the first to leave The Nothing._

–her memories flooded into Clarke’s, fitting into the blank spaces she’d been so desperately trying to fill, and suddenly it was all too much – she screamed, collapsing to the ground in pain as the images thundered over her.

_Pushing all her friends away._

_Finding the room behind the walls._

_Killing Doctor Shore._

_Kidnapping Octavia._

_Flirting with Bellamy._

_Stealing her life._

_Torturing her._

Her screams raised in pitch as the images became clearer, closer, and she clapped her hands over her ears as if that would block them. Her mind felt like it was folding in on itself. She was dimly aware of Wanheda crouching her over but she didn’t care because she could see hands that looked like hers slicing into the doctor’s skin and eyes like ice watching Octavia starve to death behind a wall.

“What did you _do,_ what did you _do,_ what did you _do?”_ She whimpered, tears falling when she squeezed her eyes shut.

Wanheda laughed coldly. “I did what you never could. What you were always too weak to do.”

She tried to breathe, lungs catching air and releasing it far too quickly. “You’re evil.”

Wanheda’s laugh echoed around the small room, but when Clarke opened her eyes, she was gone. The next time she heard the voice, it was back inside her head.

_“I’m you.”_

 

* * *

_Hits me at full speed_  
_Feel like I can't breathe_  
_And nobody knows_  
_This pain inside me_  
_My world is crumbling_  
_I should never have_  
_Let you go_  
**Lost Without You - Freya Ridings**

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Murphy, I’m telling you–”

“–don’t you think I haven’t already _tried_ that?! I mean it’s not like I’m–”

“–well what are we supposed to do, if you think–”

“–someone has to do something–”

“–this is insane–”

“–it’s not my fault you can’t make–”

“ENOUGH!” Bellamy bellowed. Everyone stopped, ducking their heads sheepishly when he levelled a glare around the room. “Arguing isn’t going to help anything. Now has anyone actually got a solution or an idea, or are we just going to keep bickering while Clarke rots away in a cell awaiting execution?”

This all felt far too familiar.

Like he was losing her all over again.

Like the universe was punishing him for it.

_He was going to lose her again._

“Whoa, Bellamy, calm down,” someone said, and then there was a hand gripping his shoulder hard enough to bring him back to earth. He hadn’t even realised he’d been panicking, but he lifted his gaze and everyone was staring at him apprehensively. Murphy’s fingers were digging into his arm, the way they always had on the Ring when he was spiralling, and Raven was arguing with Abby, who looked like she was trying to come over and help. Murphy squeezed, once. “C’mon man, get it together.”

He sucked in a breath. “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Fine.” He tugged at his sleeve anxiously, “I just… I can’t lose her again, Murphy.”

“I know. Neither can I. So let’s not, okay? Let’s save her this time.”

“Okay.” He muttered. Then, loud enough to catch the others’ attention again, “Okay. We need a plan.”

“I think you should talk to her.” Diyoza said thoughtfully. She shared a glance with Shaw. “I can’t claim to know her as well as you all do, but… we get each other, Clarke and I. So I think, before we try anything else, that Bellamy should talk to her.”

“I agree.” Raven said. “You’ve got the best chance at getting through to her.”

Bellamy swallowed. “And if I can’t?”

“Then we talk to Russell, convince him to stay her execution. Or we break her out. Or we let things unfold as they are. But first, we have to try.” There was a withdrawn, pensive look in her eyes, one that Raven didn’t often wear, and she sighed. “Monty and Harper would want us to try.”

“Monty wouldn’t have let it get to this point in the first place,” Murphy snarled, but there was no real edge to it.

The tension diminished slightly when Jordan stepped forward. “Do you think I could come with you?”

“Actually,” Madi suggested, “I was thinking that Murphy could go. And Abby.”

“Not you?” Emori asked, surprised.

The girl deflated a little. “I think I’ll make things worse. My parents never wanted me to have the Flame – the fact that they hid me from the conclave is the only reason I was alive in the valley when Clarke found me – and… when Bellamy put the flame in me, Clarke thought she failed me and failed to follow the dying wish of my parents: to keep me safe. I know she doesn’t want me to know, but I notice. Whenever she thinks I’m not looking, she looks so sad. I know she loves me, but at the moment, I’m just another reminder of her failures; another person she thinks she’s ruined by association.”

Bellamy felt the words like Clarke’s slap, heating his cheek and making the shame in his chest throb in time with his heart.

Murphy squeezed his shoulder again, keeping him tethered to reality. He smiled gratefully, but it fell off his face as he turned back to the group.

“Okay. Murphy, Abby and I will go see Clarke and we’ll regroup; meet back at my apartment the moment we’re done.” Bellamy said. “Okay?”

Everyone agreed, and then he was leaving the ship and walking back towards the castle, Murphy on his heels and Abby trailing a little further behind. They walked, unspeaking, until they reached the hallway outside the cellblock.

The guards looked unsurprised to see them.

“We’re here to see–”

“–no visitors.”

Bellamy faltered. “Excuse me?”

One of the guards folded his arms menacingly. “It hasn’t failed to attract Russell’s attention that the last time you visited a prisoner, that prisoner went missing moments later. Nor has it gone unnoticed that Miss Griffin couldn’t have fooled those cameras on her own, but Miss Reyes or Mr Shaw could have done so with ease. We don’t have enough proof to arrest you yet, Mr Blake, but she can’t have done this alone, and we’re not letting her talk to her co-conspirators.”

“Doctor Shore saved my life, you know,” one of the other soldiers said. “He was a good man, better than most, and your sister and your little girlfriend in there killed him. And for what?”

Murphy moved to argue, but Bellamy put a hand on his chest. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

“You’re fine with being accused of killing him?” He snapped. “You’re fine with Clarke stuck rotting in a cell on her own because we didn’t fight hard enough for her?”

“No!” Bellamy growled. “But I’m not inciting violence just to talk to her, Murphy, not when we don’t even know if it’ll work. We’ll figure it out.”

“She’s alone in there,” Murphy tried to shove past him but he held him back, eyeing him warningly. Murphy shoved at his chest, furious and wanting someone to take it out on. “She’s _been_ alone, for years, and we’re doing it to her _again!”_

“We’re not. We’re just being smart about this, _like she’d want us to be.”_

“Bellamy’s right,” Abby muttered.

Then an ear-piercing scream tore through the room and Bellamy forgot about holding Murphy back, because he knew where that agonised noise was coming from. The three of them surged forwards on instinct, trying to get to her, but the guards stopped them. He tried to maintain his composure, but it was hard when Clarke’s shrieks were still permeating the air.

“What are you doing to her in there?!” Murphy cried, clearly still struggling not to run in despite the barrel of a gun in his face.

The guard actually looked offended at the accusation. “Nothing. There’s nobody back there but Miss Griffin. Not even in the other cells.”

Abby gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth. “You don’t… you don’t think she’s doing something to herself?”

The guard hesitated, regarding them, and then the scream cut itself off with a horrible choked noise and he flinched. He gestured at one of the others, “Go in and check on her.”

She nodded and disappeared through the door.

Barely seconds passed before she was back but to Bellamy it felt like hours, and he tried not to think about all the terrifying things that could be happening just past where he could see.

“She’s unconscious. No signs of an attacker, but she seems to have taken a minor blow to the head. I believe whatever she was doing, she knocked herself out in the fall.”

Abby stepped forward. “Does she need medical attention?”

“We have our own doctors.”

“I know, but that’s my _daughter._ Please,” she begged, but the guards were unmoved.

“She’ll be seen to.” He jerked his chin, “I suggest you leave.”

Abby looked like she wanted to argue, but she was smarter than that, so she just pulled Murphy back by his shirt and touched Bellamy’s arm lightly, nodding back in the direction they’d come from. They had only taken a few steps, however, when there was a commotion behind the door, and the guards all ran in.

The lead guard started ordering soldiers in various directions and then he rounded on them, “What have you done with her?!”

“What are you talking about?” Bellamy asked.

“Were you just the distraction while she escaped or did you have someone break in and let her out?!”

“I don’t… we haven’t… what the fuck is going on?!” Murphy looked between Bellamy and Abby, but neither of them had the answers he was looking for.

The guard raised an eyebrow, and when he seemed to register that their shock was just as genuine as his own, he lowered the gun he’d been half-pointing at them. “You really have no idea?”

They stared blankly back at him.

He shook his head. “She’s vanished.”

Murphy kicked the nearest wall. Bellamy wanted to join him in his assault, but instead he just wracked his brain, trying to work out where she could have possibly disappeared to. She couldn’t have gotten far in the minute the guards weren’t looking at her.

“I’m getting real fucking tired of losing Clarke Griffin.” Murphy growled.

 

* * *

_I smell of smoke_  
_It slips through her cracks and so I start to choke_  
_Sentences sit in her mouth that are templated_  
_You waited smiling for this_  
**Burned Out – Dodie**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clarke was on the hard floor of her cell, and she was dimly aware that someone was bending over her, checking her pulse, but she couldn’t move or react at all.

They left quickly but she barely registered it except for the absence of something that should have been there. She didn’t have time to focus on it, however, because Wanheda’s memories were shoving themselves into her head.

Her brain felt like Praimfaya was working its way through it, every new memory singeing itself onto her mind before radiating outwards. She was trying to fit them all in, to unjumble them, but there were too many and it was too hard.

Until, like a flash, one of them stood out – a flicker of Octavia’s face, fearful and shrouded in darkness as Wanheda closed the door on her.

She was on her feet in an instant, hand gripping the bars to steady herself when the world spun around her.

It struck her then, what had been missing when the guard left her cell: the sound of a lock. Her hand slipped down the bar until she reached the latch, and when she tugged it, the door swung open.

Leaving would incriminate herself, she knew that, but staying meant leaving Octavia to rot and she was done sacrificing lives. She poked her head around the bars, checking that the coast was clear, and when she saw someone down one end of the hallway, she snuck in the other direction, ducking around the corner and towards an exit she – or was it Wanheda? – vaguely remembered.

She was almost at a door she recognised as leading somewhere familiar when she heard the commotion of her empty cell being discovered behind her. She darted forward, leaping through it and closing it as quietly as possible behind her. She wasn’t exactly sure of where she was going, but her legs seemed to be taking her there, filtering through the pieces of memory as she ran and moving her towards the destination she vaguely remembered waking up in weeks earlier.

There were shouts to her left and she hid herself behind a statue, crouching down at the base and shuffling to avoid catching anyone’s eyeline.

When she was certain they’d moved past her, she took off running again, only stopping when she reached a familiar blank wall.

 _“This is foolish.”_ One of the voices said, but she didn’t care which. She was done letting them push her around.

She found the concealed handle and yanked it, but it didn’t budge. She wracked her brains for something, anything, until she settled on a memory of the lock, curled around the inside of the door. She could break it with a well-angled blow to the handle if she had something heavy enough.

There was something heavy and decorative on a wall nearby, she knew it. It took a minute, but she managed to heft it off the hook it was hanging from, moving up to the concealed down and throwing her weight behind it.

The lock broke and she heard it slide to the floor right before the door gave way and she practically fell in. The only light in the room was from the hallway behind her, so she propped the door open with the artwork she’d used to break in, scanning for signs of life.

Her eyes caught on the slumped figure in the corner.

“Octavia,” she gasped, dropping to her knees so she could unhook the shackles with the key she’d spied on the desk.

Octavia lifted her head tiredly. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“No, no, I swear, it’s me,” she tossed the manacles to the side and carefully manoeuvred the girl’s arms around to her front, making sure not to strain her too much. “I know this makes no sense, but the person keeping you locked up, that’s not me, I promise, it’s something else. I’m not her.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Octavia said, eyes widening as she looked over Clarke’s shoulder.

She whirled around, not fast enough, and the butt of Wanheda’s gun caught her in the chin, sending her reeling into Octavia. She pushed herself off her and dove forward, tackling Wanheda to the opposite wall and trying to hold her. But she was stronger, spinning around until Clarke was the one struggling with the metal at her back.

“This isn’t a fair fight, Clarke,” Wanheda said pityingly, a wry smile on her face. “Three of us against _one_ of you?”

“Make that two,” Octavia said, kicking the table. It skidded forward and hit Wanheda, throwing her enough for Clarke to wriggle free.

Then the other two Clarkes appeared, looming in the doorway, and Clarke knew what to do.

She grabbed a gun from the desk and slid Octavia’s sword over to her, praying that the girl would understand the urgent look she sent with it.

“What do you want? I know you’re not unreasonable, Wanheda,” she said, holding up the gun with her finger clearly away from the trigger. “Like you said, you’re me.”

“No, I’m _better_.” She smirked. “And I don’t negotiate anymore.”

The three Clarkes surged forward and Clarke dove past them, shoving Octavia through the door. Just as she did, Mount Weather Clarke caught her in the stomach with a knife, snatching the gun away, and she cried out even as she gestured at Octavia to keep moving. “RUN!” She shouted, throwing herself back against it to keep it closed and stop the other figures from going after her.

The second the door latched, room was plunged into darkness.

“You think that’ll stop us?” Wanheda asked. “You’ve seen my memories; you know we can teleport.”

“No, _you_ can teleport.” Clarke panted. “And I don’t think you’ll leave the other two to finish torturing me. You’re far too angry. You want to do it yourself, Wanheda, _I know you.”_

“You manipulating me, Princess?” She asked, eyes sparkling even in the darkness.

“And what if I am?” She said defiantly.

Fingers grabbed her wrists and a body pushed her against the wall, holding her still. She could barely see but she knew that Wanheda’s face was just a breath from her own. “Then I would recommend knowing exactly what you’re up against.”

“Oh, I do.”

“Really?” She murmured, “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’ve got the upper hand.”

“Ah, but I know something you don’t know,” she teased.

Wanheda leaned in even closer, lips practically brushing hers when she said, “What’s that?”

She smiled sweetly. “Your memories aren’t the only ones I’ve got.”

Then she kicked out, sending Wanheda to her knees, and grabbed the gun from Finn’s Clarke’s hands. She pointed it towards the corner of the room where she knew the other entrance was, the one Mount Weather Clarke had sealed up when they first found the room, and pulled the trigger. The lock flew apart with enough force to knock the weapon from her hand but she didn't have time to find it, and she rammed her shoulder against the crack it made in the seal, falling out into a corridor she didn't recognise. It didn't matter where she went, she knew they would find her, that they knew what she knew, so she stared down at the floor, trying to avoid any landmarks that might give them clues as she sprinted aimlessly towards the quietest part of the castle. 

She really didn't know how to fix things this time. 

 

* * *

_When it's over you'll start_  
_You're my head, you're my heart_

 _No light, no light in your bright blue eyes_  
_I never knew daylight could be so violent_  
_A revelation in the light of day_  
_You can't choose what stays and what fades away_  
**No Light, No Light – Florence and the Machine**

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bellamy, Murphy and Abby had rounded up all their friends and they were standing in Bellamy’s living room, trying to work out a plan of action.

So far, there had been the occasional accidental red herring from Raven and Shaw who were scanning the cameras for any sign of Clarke, and a lot of pointless suggestions from everyone else.

When Raven poked him in the arm for the third time in ten minutes, he lifted his eyes skyward, “I swear to god, if this is another situation where you tell you see Clarke and it’s another Janusian, I’m going to kill you.”

Raven didn’t speak, she just grabbed his shirt and yanked him around to face the monitor. There, in the hallway near Doctor Shore’s office, was a familiar head of hair, running in the direction of the castle centre.

_“Is that…?”_

“Yep.”

He spun on his heel and shoved through everyone, storming out into the corridor. He started jogging, not even glancing behind him to see if they were following.

It was almost near the mess hall when he found her. She was staggering slightly, leaning against the wall as she moved, but when she lifted her head and saw him, she froze in her tracks.

“O.” He breathed.

“Hey Big Brother,” she croaked out, coughing a little.

“O, where the hell have you _been?!”_

“Kidnapped.” She said matter-of-factly, like it was obvious, or maybe she knew she couldn’t speak and she was trying to conserve as much energy as possible. “Stuck behind a wall. S'kinda ironic, I guess. That’s probably why she did it.”

“Why _who_ did it?” Raven asked from his side, evidently having caught up.

Octavia’s eyes widened all of a sudden and she started looking over her shoulder like she expected to see someone.

“Shit.” She hissed.

“What?” Emori asked. “What’s wrong?!”

“Clarke’s in trouble,” Octavia said frantically.

“Isn’t she always,” Murphy muttered under his breath, but his eyes gave his fear away, and he was heading the charge as they all followed Octavia down the hall.

She led them towards what looked like part of the wall until she kicked at it and the door burst open to reveal a room hidden behind it. There was a desk in the corner with maps and plans splayed across it, and chains against the wall, and black blood on the floor, and Bellamy’s breath caught.

Octavia was looking around for something, but it wasn’t until she got down on her knees and crawled under the desk that it clicked for Bellamy that this must have been where she’d been held for the last few weeks. His eyes crossed to the chains and he swallowed, but before he had a chance to ask if she was okay, she was on her feet, eyes wide with panic.

“Shit.” She held up the gun she’d found on the floor. “Clarke’s unarmed.”

“What happened?” Raven asked, at the same time as Emori said;

“Where is she?”

Octavia shook her head, “I don’t know, she distracted her so I could escape, but she was wounded, I… I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Diyoza stepped forward. “If she was injured and being pursued, she can’t have got far. We split up – pick a direction and search. Emori and Murphy, go east, Octavia and Echo, head towards the forest, Abby, Madi and Shaw, you check out her apartment, Raven and Jordan go west, Miller and Jackson go south, Bellamy, you’re with me.”

They all looked to Bellamy for confirmation and he nodded curtly, falling into step beside Diyoza as everybody scattered.

“You good?” She asked, not even looking at him as they walked along the north corridor.

He couldn’t even begin to know how to answer that question.

He had his sister back, but he wasn’t sure how to feel about that and he didn’t have time to work through it, because Clarke was in danger and _he couldn’t lose her, goddammit._

To her credit, Diyoza didn’t push him to say anything, she just pulled her gun from its holster and flicked the safety off, readying herself for a fight. “I’ll take your panicked, brooding silence as an affirmative and hope that you can hold yourself together until we’ve found your girlfriend, does that work for you?”

He nodded curtly.

They were in a part of the castle he didn’t recognise, somewhere that felt empty and unused, and he didn’t trust the echoes of his own footsteps as they moved.

A dark blue door came into view, sitting slightly ajar.

Diyoza held up a hand, keeping him behind her when she slipped through the gap. A moment later, her hand emerged, beckoning him through.

He stepped against her side and she pointed to her ears.

It took him a second to realise what she meant, until the muffled noises of someone talking floated towards them from somewhere ahead. Diyoza made a gesture with her hands, some kind of army related sign language that he vaguely recognised from one of the movies Murphy had played to death on the Ring. He could get the gist – split up, circle around, try to corner them.

He grabbed her wrist and squeezed it once, silently telling her to be careful, and she simply nodded in return before she slipped into the shadows.

He moved towards the source of the noise, intending to maintain some level of stealth, but that had never been his strong suit, and he abandoned it completely when he heard a familiar voice cry out in pain.

He sprinted into the room, only to see Clarke pressed up against the wall with someone pointing a gun at her. She was glaring defiantly, despite the black blood slowly dripping through the fingers she had pressed to her stomach, and the other person was talking. He slowed down, just out of sight, and started creeping closer.

“…you really think that things would get better when we got here? You should know better by now, Clarke. You’re poison to everything you touch.”

Bellamy froze.

He _knew_ that voice.

But that was impossible.

“Poor little Clarke Griffin, whose father loved her so much that he sacrificed himself for everyone else.”

“Stop.” Clarke whispered.

“Whose mother sent her down to Earth to die. Whose best friend died cold and alone in the dark not twenty feet from your tent. Everyone you love dies or pushes you away to save themselves. I may as well kill you now before you get Madi killed.”

She cocked the gun.

This time, Clarke didn’t say anything. She just closed her eyes.

Bellamy stepped out from the shadows. “Hey!”

The figure turned her head and even though he was expecting it, he still did a double-take. Because the figure was someone he would recognise anywhere.

_Clarke._

Clarke Griffin was standing in front of him, holding a gun up to Clarke Griffin.

_What the **fuck** was going on?!_

The one holding the gun had steel behind her eyes and she raked them down his body hungrily. It made him more than a little uncomfortable, and he gritted his teeth to avoid reacting.

She smirked. “Aw, Clarke, did you invite the cavalry?”

“Stop it.” Clarke whispered. “Stop it.”

“What the hell is going on here?” He pressed his palms against his eyes, “Clarke, why are there two of you?!”

The Clarke with her back to the wall stared at him, unblinking. Her voice was barely a whisper when she asked, “You can see her?”

He let his hands drop. “Of course I can see her, now will someone explain to me how the fuck this is possible?!”

The Clarke holding the gun smirked as she turned back to her target. “Poor Clarke. You didn’t think I was really here? You thought you’d finally cracked? I can’t blame you – the things you’ve done are enough to drive anyone insane. But let’s be honest here, Clarke – you’ve suspected you were crazy since Praimfaya, haven’t you? Seeing all the ghosts of people you used to know in the dust, talking every day to a metal box and pretending your precious Bellamy could hear you.”

“Please,” Clarke whispered, letting tears slip down her cheeks.

He glimpsed Diyoza on the floor above them, pointing her gun down between the two women as if unsure which one to shoot. Honestly, he wouldn’t be sure either if Octavia hadn’t told them about Clarke being wounded. He caught the woman’s eye and mouthed for her to get the others. She receded back into the shadows and Bellamy decided to keep attention on him.

“Hey,” he tried, but she ignored him. “HEY!”

The stormy-eyed Clarke turned to face him slightly, gun pressing harder into his Clarke’s forehead as she did; making a point.

“Alright, _alright,_ ” he took a step back. “Don’t hurt her, okay? Just… How is this _possible?_   What _are_ you?!”

She regarded him with something like a smile in her dark eyes. “I’m the Commander of Death, remember? I’ve been resisting for years, but once I realised that no matter what I did, I’d be the bad guy, that my legacy would be nothing but death and destruction, I finally embraced my destiny.”

Like a bolt of lightning, Bellamy realised why the Clarke with the gun felt so eerie – because it wasn’t Clarke Griffin, the girl from the Ark, the girl who would do anything to save the people she loved – she was Wanheda, to whom love was only weakness. Everything that had felt wrong in the last few months suddenly fell into place.

“Wanheda.”

She grinned. “Clever. I always knew how smart you were, Bellamy.”

“Leave him alone,” Clarke spat.

“What, I can’t be nice to the man you’re in love with?”

Clarke’s face was contorted in rage and panic and pain. “No. You can’t.”

“Pity.” She shrugged, turning the gun to point at Bellamy. “Say goodbye to your boyfriend, Clarke.”

Bellamy set his jaw defiantly, looking past her to where Clarke was standing, teary-eyed, against the wall. She shook her head at him, begging him to walk away, but he couldn’t.

“Please…” She whispered once more, broken.

Time slowed down and Wanheda’s finger crept towards the trigger.

A shot rang out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .......................................................................my bad?


End file.
